


No Direction Home

by heyjupiter



Series: No Direction Home [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No Direction Home bridges the gap between Origins: Wolverine and the first X-Men film. When Origins ends, Logan is on Three Mile Island with no memories, and Remy is on his way back to New Orleans. Logan ends up in Japan, training with the man who will become the Silver Samurai and falling in love with Mariko Yashida. After a tragedy on his wedding day, Remy finds that he's no longer welcome in New Orleans and he travels the world as a master thief. When he takes a job in Tokyo, his path once again crosses Logan's. The two men again forge an alliance, but can it survive? Will either of them ever again find a place to call home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried hard to make the timeline work between Origins: Wolverine and X1, though it's not an easy feat. Here's what I did: I've decided Wolverine is set in 1985. I know people tend to assume it's 1979, when the actual Three Mile Island disaster was, but the movie never explicitly says, and think of it this way--wouldn't Stryker be more likely to pick it for his ultra-secret base _after_ the real meltdown? That way people would be more afraid to visit it. Also, the way Logan and Remy talk about Three Mile Island makes it sound like it's a household name, which it wouldn't have been before the accident. X1, for my purposes, is 2000. I know--it came out in 2000 and said "the not-too-distant future." But if Scott Summers is a teenager in Wolverine, and there are 15 years between X1 and Wolverine, then there's only so far we can go with this before the leader of the X-Men starts looking pretty middle-aged. Anyway, this is just my take on it. There's always a certain amount of handwaving involved in trying to get the movie timelines to add up, anyway. *waves hands* I also sort of alluded to XMFC, a little, but I'm not even going to try to get _those_ timelines to all add up here.
> 
> I've also loosely borrowed some comics 'verse characters and scenarios and incorporated them into this story. Don't worry if you're not familiar with comics; this story should tell you everything you need to know about the borrowed characters. And if you _are_ familiar with comics, don't count on this too line up too closely with any actual comics events. After all, if you wanted to read about how things went in the comics, you'd just read the comics, right?
> 
> I've kept Origins: Wolverine's idea that Remy's eyes only glow red when he's using his power. But I've taken some of the comics' ideas of Remy's powers--specifically, that his kinetic energy abilities give him some telepathic resistance.
> 
> Almost all of these characters belong to Marvel. The Bob Dylan lyrics belong to Bob Dylan. A small amount of dialogue at the beginning and end of this fic is directly quoted from Origins: Wolverine and X1. I'm only making money off of this in the sense that I wrote some of it while at work. (Be cool, please don't tell my boss.)
> 
>  **Thanks:** are due to [lilacsigil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil), my oh-so-wise and observant beta!
> 
> The lovely **(and occasionally NSFW)** art embedded throughout the story is by lick_j, please see the large versions and tell her how awesome she is at [this post!](http://lick-j.livejournal.com/1055188.html)
> 
> There is also a fanmix for this story [here](http://renata-kedavra.livejournal.com/13660.html).

  


_Some people will offer you their hand  
And some won't  
Last night I knew you,  
Tonight I don't_  
\-- Bob Dylan, Mississippi

Logan closes his eyes for a moment. His senses are all so keen that he sometimes gets overwhelmed; things are easier with his eyes shut.

He hears some small movements in the alley--rats, and maybe a cat. His sense of smell confirms small animals, but only one other human: Remy LeBeau. A few passerby had come out to observe the fight, but they've long since scattered. His hands are still holding LeBeau by his slender throat, pushing him against a brick wall. He can hear LeBeau's heart beating incredibly fast and feel his pulse racing under his hands. He has the kid beat, and they both know it. He smells LeBeau, too--a mixture of sweat and fear and pheromones. The more Logan smells him, the more he wants to taste him.

Try as he might, he doesn't hear or smell Victor or John. He opens his eyes and stares into Remy's face for a moment. He's caught his breath and his face is starting to regain the cocky expression it had had when Logan'd first walked into the club and seen him dealing cards. He remembers the conversation he'd had with John before entering the bar-- _"I'm gonna go cover the the back in case he rabbits." "What? I gotta get in a fight with everybody?" "Don't dogs kill cats?"_

Logan was so used to being an animal, to thinking of others as animals, that he hadn't thought twice about John's pronouncement. But he also remembers Kayla's words to him--"Logan, you're _not an animal_." God, Kayla....

Sensing his distraction, LeBeau squirms. Logan tightens his grasp on the kid's neck and says, "You're gonna take me this Island, where I'm gonna kill Creed, Stryker, and pretty much everyone you hate in this world, you understand?"

"You're really gonna kill him?" LeBeau asks. His face is flushed, and Logan can't help but think what a pretty boy he is.

Logan says, "Long as you stay out of my way, yeah," and then sets him down, none too gently. Logan watches him land. LeBeau's favoring his right foot but trying to hide it.

"All right. I'll take you there. Tomorrow."

Logan growls and says, "You'll take me there right now!" He is consumed with the need for immediate revenge.

LeBeau cocks his head. "Look, mon ami, I got a few things to take care of before we can go. It ain't like we can just swim there, you know. Stryker ain't goin' anywhere. 'Sides, way I see it, you owe me a drink."

Logan raises his eyebrows. "I owe _you_ a drink? You're the one let Creed get away."

LeBeau shrugs and drawls, "You started it, breaking up a perfectly fine card game with those shiny tags of yours. But I'm prepared to forgive you, after a drink or two. So let us retire to a more welcoming environment, d'accord?"

Logan can no longer smell any trace of fear from the kid. It's all cocky amusement now.

"Hold up on that," Logan says. "I... have to go back for my friend."

He starts walking back in the general direction of where he'd last seen Victor and John, and LeBeau calls, "I wouldn't go that way, if I was you. New Orleans might not have the finest police force around, but there's bound to be a few cops around after what just happened."

"I'm not gonna leave him."

"Course not. Follow me," LeBeau says, nimbly leading him toward a metal fire escape and up onto the roof of a nearby building. Logan follows the kid across a series of rooftops. Even injured, LeBeau moves with incredible grace. He never looks back to see if Logan is keeping up with him. They come down on top of a dumpster, and Logan gags at the smell. He takes another breath and this time he finds the stench even more repulsive. He picks up traces of John's blood, and some of Victor's, too. But he can't find the body. He whirls around and studies the tracks. Gone. Creed must have doubled back while Logan was fighting Gambit. Is John alive? He suspects not, not the way Victor had been holding him the last time Logan saw them. But if Victor has him, and Victor's working for Stryker, they'll probably both be at the Island.

He glances back at LeBeau, who's studying a fragment of his broken staff, somehow looking casual and elegant in the midst of this rubble.

"All right," Logan says. "Let's get out of here."

LeBeau says, "How'd you get here?"

"Got a bike out front."

"Get it and meet me back here."

Logan snorts. "What makes you think I'm dumb enough to fall for that?"

"Hey, mon ami, you said it yourself--you're going to kill everyone I hate. But I would prefer not to be seen by too many of my colleagues just now. Could get messy. We'll meet back here, d'accord?"

Logan studies the other man. He doesn't smell a lie, only Remy's unnaturally attractive pheromones. "All right," he says. He stalks off to retrieve his bike, looking sadly at John's for a moment. He puts it in neutral and silently pushes it around the back, trying to keep a low profile. Drunken revelers have already begun to reassemble in the street, though not as many as had been there before the vicious fight had broken out. When he returns to the alley, he finds it empty. "Goddamnit," he says. He sniffs the air and easily traces LeBeau's scent, like a hungry man picking up a whiff of steak. He follows it a ways down the alley and finds the younger man pushing his own motorcycle back to their meeting spot.

LeBeau raises an eyebrow. "Aw, cher, you miss me already?" he asks, a teasing smirk on his lips.

Logan growls. "Look, kid, I ain't playin' around."

"Well now, you know what they say about all work and no play."

Logan rolls his eyes. "I got places to be."

"Yeah, yeah, the Island. Follow me." LeBeau starts his bike, a sleek BMW, and heads off at a slow pace. He speeds up as soon as he hears Logan's bike behind him, and he leads him out of the French Quarter and into a quieter part of Uptown. They leave their bikes in front of a dingy bar, where their ragged appearance doesn't attract any second glances. LeBeau orders two whiskeys, neat. Logan watches him flirt with the bartender, a not-especially-pretty blonde woman, who blushes and gives them each an extra-long pour. LeBeau gives a charming grin in return and takes the two glasses to a table near the front door.

"Á votre santé!" LeBeau says, cheerfully raising his glass.

"You come here often?" Logan asks, letting the familiar taste of Seagram's wash over his tongue. He doesn't know which irritates him more: that LeBeau hadn't bothered to ask him what he was drinking, or that he had ordered exactly the right thing.

"Nope. This probably the last place anybody'd think to look for Remy LeBeau." He considers. "All right, the last place anybody'd think to look for Remy LeBeau would probably be, oh, a grade school."

Logan shakes his head. Who the fuck is this kid? "So where exactly is the Island?"

"Ah, the Island. It's up north. You'll see it soon enough. For now, how about if you tell me why you want to go there so bad? It ain't exactly a tourist attraction."

Logan reaches in his pocket and fishes out a cigar. It's taken a bit of damage in his pocket and he half-heartedly tries to reshape it. He frowns, looking for something to light it with. LeBeau produces a pack of clove cigarettes and a lighter from somewhere within his coat. He lights up his own smoke and then smoothly offers Logan a light. Logan nods his thanks and enjoys the first puff of his cigar. Then he says, "Stryker... betrayed me."

LeBeau's mouth twists into a sneer. "No surprise there, eh?"

Logan holds the cigar in his left hand and takes a long swig of his whiskey. No, he'd never trusted Stryker. But no matter what, no matter how unhinged Victor got, he'd thought he could trust his own brother. Not that LeBeau needs to know Logan's family business. Logan just shrugs.

LeBeau presses on, "So, you used to be one of Stryker's spooks? Then how come you don't know where the Island is, y'self?"

"I quit. Long time ago. I guess before he started using the Island. Stryker was--" Logan cuts off, remembering the night he'd left, just walked right off into the African savanna while Victor called his name. "I didn't want to work for him anymore," he concludes.

LeBeau gives a slight shake of his head, knocking his auburn hair away from his face and sending out a fresh wave of his scent in Logan's direction. Christ, he smells good. "Stryker's a sick son of a bitch," he says, matter-of-factly. "Nothin' compared to Creed, though."

Logan considers this. Which of the two is worse? The animal, or the one who let the animal off the leash? The one who killed Kayla, or the one who orchestrated her death? He shrugs again and downs the last of his whiskey. LeBeau raises his eyebrows at him over his own half-empty glass.

"Come on," Logan says. "Let's get out of here."

"No rush, mon ami, we cannot leave until tomorrow morning at the earliest. But best to wait until tomorrow night. So may as well have another drink, non?"

"Tomorrow _night_?" Logan can hear the growl in his own voice.

LeBeau holds his hands out, pacifying him. "It's like I told you, homme, we cannot swim there, eh? We can fly there, but I need to refuel my plane, and ain't nobody going to be out at that airstrip at this hour." Logan bites back a sigh, and LeBeau adds, "But it is best to arrive when it is dark out. So tomorrow morning, I refuel. Tomorrow afternoon, we leave, and tomorrow night, we arrive. And at any rate, I think we both need our beauty sleep before going to the Island, non?" The kid's face reveals nothing, but Logan can smell a wave of fear from him.

"Fine," Logan says. "Tomorrow." He supposes he could use a little sleep, at that--Las Vegas to New Orleans had been two long, hard days on his bike. He smokes his cigar meditatively, all the while watching LeBeau work his way through four cigarettes. A small, private smile never leaves the kid's face, and Logan wonders what the joke is. The pace of his smoking and the sound of his elevated heartrate are the only signs that LeBeau might be the slightest bit uneasy about his current situation. His face reveals nothing.

Eventually, Logan pushes away from the table and brings two more drinks back to the table. LeBeau acknowledges the new drink with a slight nod, and the two keep drinking. Logan's mutation keeps him from getting drunk, but he likes the taste of whiskey, the burn of it. He likes the act of sitting in a bar with a drink and a cigar. Somehow, sitting in a room with other people while he drinks and smokes is socially acceptable, even if he isn't talking to any of them.

After their third round of drinks, LeBeau says, "Well, mon ami, I got a few t'ings to take care of before tomorrow." His lilting Cajun accent is a little stronger than it was when they arrived, but he seems otherwise unaffected by the drinks. Logan watches him walk to the door carefully. He's not quite hiding a slight limp, but he's walking in a straight line. The kid's skinny but he can hold his alcohol.

They return to their bikes and LeBeau suddenly reaches out and grabs Logan's tags. Logan jerks back instinctively. LeBeau gives him an infuriating smirk and says, "I was just wondering what your name might be, M'sieur Wolverine."

"Christ, kid, call me Logan. You could have just asked."

"I could have asked, and p'rhaps you would have answered. All the same, now I have my answer, eh? Now, Logan, follow me. I know a place where you can stay tonight."

"Wait a second, where are you going to stay?"

"Ah, Logan, don't worry. You will not be lonely tonight. We will go to the safehouse. You will wait there while I make a few arrangements, and then I will return. Then tomorrow, I will take you to the Island, as I agreed." LeBeau takes in Logan's face and says, cheerfully, "What, you don't trust me?"

"'Bout as far as I can throw you."

"I figure a man like you could throw me pretty far, eh?" He hops on his bike and says, "Come on, Wolverine, follow me."

Logan starts his bike and follows, since this smarmy card dealer is currently the only person he knows who can help him exact his revenge for what's been done to Kayla, and for what's been done to himself.

They don't travel terribly far before coming to a stop in front of a nondescript little house. LeBeau reaches somewhere in the depths of his brown leather duster and produces a key, opening the door with a flourish before returning the key. It's a New Orleans shotgun house, long and narrow. If you stood in the front room, you could fire a bullet straight through to the back door without hitting any walls.

"I'll give you the grand tour," LeBeau says. They walk through the front room into a bedroom, another bedroom, a kitchen, and finally a small bathroom. The place doesn't look or smell lived-in.

"This your place?" Logan asks.

"Does it matter if it ain't?" LeBeau counters. Then he shrugs. "I figure people just might be looking for me at my place. This is a Guild safehouse. Ain't nobody gonna bother us here."

"Guild?"

"The T'eves Guild."

It takes Logan a moment to understand that through the drunk Cajun accent. "There's a guild for thieves? What, like a union?" Logan asks incredulously.

LeBeau gives an infuriating smirk at that. "Oh, yeah, we got dental insurance and everything." He opens a cabinet and says, "There's sheets and towels here. You can have your pick of the beds. I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Logan hesitates. He's not too keen about being left behind, but he really does suppose he has to trust LeBeau at this point. Still, he says, "You need any help?"

"Nah. Sometimes two feet are better than four, eh?" LeBeau pauses in the doorway, turns back and says, "Hey, mon ami, I'd appreciate it if this place was still standing when I get back, d'accord?" He's out the door before Logan can point out that Gambit was the one who tended to knock down walls, not him. He listens and doesn't hear a motorcycle start. Whatever the kid's doing, he's doing it on foot.

Logan shrugs and decides to check out the kitchen. He might as well have a drink or three while he waits for LeBeau to come back. He pokes around the mostly-empty cabinets and finds a mostly-full bottle of Jack Daniels. He settles in at the kitchen table and waits. Even though LeBeau's not here, the little house still reeks of his scent, and it's driving him crazy.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
_I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind  
You could have done better but I don't mind  
You just kinda wasted my precious time,  
But don't think twice, it's all right_  
\-- Bob Dylan, Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

Remy walks a few blocks before stopping to light a cigarette and think. The nicotine clears his head, which has been clouded ever since he saw Logan's tags. How else can he explain jumping into a fight between Logan and Victor Creed? The sensible thing to do would have been to let them take care of each other, while he fled. Instead he'd thrown himself at a man with metal claws and a healing factor.

He cannot _believe_ he has agreed to this. He's been free for almost a year and he still has nightmares about the Island. That place was hell on earth and he never, ever wanted to return. He inhales and realizes that he doesn't have to. Logan hadn't followed him out here.

Remy has connections. He's sure he could go underground, get out of the city to a place where this guy Logan--not to mention Creed or Stryker--couldn't find him. He'd always known that returning to New Orleans was a risk, but it was one worth taking. Remy loves New Orleans. He loves it more than he'd loved any woman, loves it more than he loves his family. But he doesn't love it more than he loves his own freedom.

Even as he starts idly making getaway plans, he knows he won't follow through. Remy might be a thief, but he's an honorable thief. He'd already given Logan his word that he'd take him back to the Island. And, well, if anyone could kill Stryker, it seems like this guy could. It would be nice, Remy thinks, if Stryker were dead.

So, then, what does Remy need to do? First, he thinks, he should get some Tylenol or something. His ankle fucking _hurts_. Then he needs to come up with some money, having been forced to leave the bar before taking his cut for the night. He keeps his plane out at a little private airfield out of town, and the owner has a very firm "no credit" policy. He knows the Cessna definitely doesn't have enough fuel to get him to Pennsylvania. He hasn't checked fuel prices lately but it'll probably be a few hundred dollars to refuel. Well, that shouldn't be a problem. He can swing by the French Quarter and relieve a few drunk tourists of their excess cash, find an all-night convenience store and get some damn Tylenol, and save the rest of the money for tomorrow.

And Bella... he should probably talk to Bella at some point. He's honestly not sure if he doesn't want to see her because he thinks it might endanger her, or if he doesn't want to see her because, well, he doesn't want to see her. It isn't the seeing he minds so much as the hearing, really. He'd stood her up tonight--for reasons entirely out of his control, of course--and he's sure he's in for an earfull. A phone call, perhaps? But what time is it? It's probably too late to call. Fuck it. He'll call her in the morning and beg forgiveness. She always forgives him eventually.

He stamps out his cigarette butt, walks another block to a 7-11 with a payphone out front, and calls a cab to take him to the Quarter. He has just enough cash on hand to pay and tip the driver. As ever, Rue Bourbon is packed with tourists holding plastic cups, completely thrilled to be in a city with no open container laws and oblivious to everything around them. He takes a few moments to enjoy being part of the happy crowd, though he never really becomes part of it. He's always watching, looking for cops, looking for easy marks. He sees one uniformed officer and scans the street for his partner. He smirks when he sees the second cop coming out of a bar with two plastic cups of beer, one of which he hands to the first cop. God bless New Orleans.

He takes no pleasure in robbing tourists, even if they are wearing hideous Hawaiian-print shirts. There's no thrill, no challenge. In quick succession he takes three fat wallets and tucks the cash away in one of his inner coat pockets. Then he politely approaches one of the officers and says, with his best out-of-town accent, "Excuse me, I saw these in the trash. I don't know if you have a lost and found or something..."

The cop rolls his eyes and takes the wallets. "Yeah, we'll look into it."

"Is there a lot of crime in New Orleans?" he asks innocently.

"The usual amount," the cop says. Remy shrugs and walks away. Those wallets are probably just going to linger in an evidence locker forever, but at least he tried. He has no need for credit cards, IDs, or family photos. Just the cash, which should be more than enough to refuel his baby.

Remy gets another cab and has it drop him off several blocks from the safehouse, just in case anyone's following him. He walks back past the 7-11 and stops in for a bottle of Tylenol, a bag of beef jerky, and a pack of Camels. He prefers cloves, but he's almost out and he'll take what he can get for the moment. He swallows four Tylenol dry and sticks the rest of the small bottle in one of his pockets. It'll feel good to put his foot up.

He opens the door to the safehouse and sees no sign of Logan in the living room. He passes through the house and finds him in the kitchen, contentedly smoking a cigar and drinking straight from a bottle of Jack Daniels that he'd gotten from somewhere. Logan nods in greeting, and Remy joins him at the table. He pulls out the beef jerky and offers it to Logan, who happily accepts.

When Remy had escaped the Island, he'd swiped the file Stryker had compiled on Remy. Among other things, it stated in cold scientific terms what Remy had always known--that his mutant ability also gave him a heightened metabolism and meant that he required an abnormally high caloric intake. They'd tested him on that to find his limits. They'd left him in his cage for a week without food. By the end of it, Remy had looked like one of the starving African kids you see on TV. Remy narrows his eyes slightly at the memory and takes out a big, stringy piece. He chews it slowly, savoring it. He watches Logan eat out of the corner of his eye. Logan probably has a heightened metabolism too. Remy should have gotten more jerky.

"Everything set for tomorrow, then?" Logan asks, after the bag of dried meat is empty.

Remy licks his fingers delicately and says, "We're in good shape."

"Are we?" Logan asks, a slight edge in his voice.

Remy looks at him carefully. Logan had drunk a lot of whiskey but he still doesn't seem drunk. "Oui, mon ami. You ready for some shut-eye?"

"Guess so."

Remy rises and makes the two beds. He leaves Logan the bedroom closer to the kitchen and steps through to the next one, where he strips down to his boxers and happily lies down to sleep.

Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the sight of Logan's shiny dogtags, maybe it was the pain in his ankle--whatever the cause, Remy wakes up abruptly, adrenaline racing through his veins from a nightmare he doesn't remember. He collects himself and looks at the clock on the bedside table. It's 5:03 am. Half the time, Remy isn't even in bed yet by that hour. He sighs and decides to take a piss. He silently opens the door and passes through Logan's room. Logan's tossing and turning and muttering in his sleep. Remy hesitates, and then quietly steps closer to Logan. Curiosity killed the cat and it just might kill Remy LeBeau, but he can't help himself.

He listens carefully. It's hard to make out what Logan's saying, but Remy thinks he hears Victor's name. He wonders if he should wake Logan up. He decides against it and takes a step away from the bed, just as Logan's eyes open. He jumps out of bed, pops his claws with a terrible snikt, and shoves Remy against the wall.

"Bonjour to you too," Remy says, trying for a joke. Logan's hands are on his shoulders and the claws are dangerously close to his face. Remy's still in his boxers, desperately wishing he had his coat with its many pockets. He'd settle for one pocket, one card.

"You--" Logan takes a deep breath. "You smell--where am I?" He takes a deep breath. His hands are still on Remy's shoulders, but he retracts the claws.

"You're in New Orleans. I'm Remy LeBeau. Today we're going to the Island." Remy cannot help but notice that Logan is naked, save for his dog tags, and impressively aroused.

His curiosity really is going to get him killed one of these days.

Logan lets go of Remy's shoulders. He reaches out and traces one of the long, ugly scars on Remy's torso. "Where'd you get those?"

Remy can't quite keep himself from flinching when he says, "Victor Creed."

Logan growls. Remy slowly slides out from between Logan and the wall. He sidles toward the door, but Logan comes back around and pushes him down onto the bed.

Remy props himself up on his elbows and looks up at Logan, allowing himself a small smile. It's true that he's technically engaged, but Bella understands that these things happen. And Logan is an undeniably fine specimen. Logan straddles him and starts to roughly lick at Remy's earlobe and collarbone. Remy arches his back, giving Logan full access to his throat. Remy lets out a little moan at the feel of Logan's rough beard and warm tongue. Aside from the coarse hair, Logan's skin is curiously smooth.

"God, kid, you smell so damn good," Logan says.

Remy's no stranger to one night stands, and he knows he's an attractive man. But he thinks this might be the first time he's gotten someone into bed based on his smell. Remy will take what he can get. He reaches out his hands and runs them up and down Logan's back. Dieu, the man's muscles have muscles.

Logan reaches down Remy's body, and Remy hears the _snikt_ of a claw sliding out. He freezes, and Logan laughs. "Ain't gonna hurt you. Not much, anyway." He reaches out the claw and slices Remy's boxers off. Remy curses inwardly--it's not like he has another pair here--but his irritation is quickly forgotten when he feels Logan's hand on his cock.

It's been awhile since Remy's been with a man, and he'd forgotten how different it feels. Logan's body is firm and solid and _heavy_ , where Bella's is soft and inviting. Variety is the spice of life, they say, and Remy can't disagree. Logan jerks Remy's cock a few times, almost experimentally. Remy bites back a groan and slides a hand between their bodies. He runs it through Logan's thick chest hair and follows the trail down. They roll over and lie side by side on the bed for a moment, stroking each other.

Then Logan asks, "You ready, LeBeau?"

"Wait--" Remy says, panting. He slides out of the bed and digs in the bedside table. He's sure he'd left some lube here. He finds it, along with a box of condoms, which he hands to Logan. "You did promise not to hurt me," he says, breathily.

"Think I said I wouldn't hurt you _much_ ," Logan corrects with a smirk. He bends Remy over, facedown on the bed. He traces a single Vaseline-tipped finger over Remy's scars. Then, without warning, the finger makes its way to Remy's asshole, teasing it.

"Mmm," Remy says.

"You like that, kid?"

"Mm-hmm."

In response, Logan adds another finger and gently slides them in and out. Remy squirms. He reaches a hand back and finds Logan's cock. He's not at a very good angle, but he grazes his fingers against it, hoping to tease Logan into going a little faster here.

Logan lets out a deep rumble of a laugh and then says, "All right, all right." He firmly puts Remy's hand back on the bed and Remy hears him reach for the Vaseline again.

Remy feels the tip of Logan's cock at the entrance to his asshole, and he says, "Wait, homme--the rubber--"

Remy's a gambler but he'd never play Russian roulette. He's been hearing stories going around about AIDS, some new super virus.

Logan laughs. "Kid, you've seen me heal. I don't get diseases, and I can't spread what I don't got. And I'm sure as hell not gonna knock you up."

Remy tenses for a moment, but it makes sense. "I swear, kid, I'm clean," Logan says, and he starts teasing Remy again. Remy sighs and arches up toward Logan's cock. Slowly but firmly, Logan slides himself deeper inside.

"Dieu," Remy breathes. He feels incredibly full, and now Logan's thrusting in and out, pressing on his prostate. He lets out another moan. In response, Logan bends forward, pushing his torso against Remy's back. He licks at Remy's shoulder and bites down on the spot where his shoulder meets his throat. It hurts, but Remy doesn't really care. Logan feels so warm and heavy against him, except for the cold metal dog tags pressing between his shoulders.

He's thrusting back up against Logan and rubbing his cock against the sheet, until Logan reaches down and grabs it.

"Oh, yeah," Logan grunts. He picks up the pace of his thrusts and starts stroking Remy's cock in time with his movements. Abruptly, Logan pulls out and Remy feels hot come spatter across his back. Feeling it, Remy moans loudly and comes in Logan's hand. Logan reaches down for Remy's discarded boxers and he wipes his hands off on them. Remy's still lying on the bed in a haze. Logan settles down next to him. He licks Remy's shoulder where he'd bitten him before. It feels like Logan'd broken the skin, and it stings, but Remy doesn't tell him to stop.

"Mm," Logan says. "Maybe now I can get some goddamn sleep." He rolls on his side and throws an arm over Remy, pulling him close. Remy blinks. Is he--is he cuddling with Wolverine? Logan presses his face against Remy's neck and inhales. No, he's just being smelled by him. Fucking weird, but Remy loves nearly all types of physical contact, so he settles back and falls asleep curled against Logan. He wakes up a few hours later, feeling a little sore but overall much more pleased with his state of affairs than the first time he'd woken up that day. Remy hates sleeping alone. He lies quietly for a moment, enjoying the weight of Logan's arm around him.

He carefully slides out from under Logan's arm and showers. He slips his clothes back on, minus his ruined underwear. Ah, well, who needs it? He decides to ditch yesterday's button-down shirt, too--it's a little worse for the wear, and he'll be fine in his undershirt, jeans, and duster. He silently opens the front door and hears a gruff voice say, "Where ya goin', Cajun?"

"Got to take care of the plane. Don't worry, I'll be back real soon. I'll even bring breakfast." He shuts the door before he can hear Logan's reply, if there even is one. He starts his bike and heads east out of town. He keeps his little Cessna at a tiny private airfield.

The plane's a complete whimsy, but Remy loves it. The night he'd won it, he'd laughed when the out-of-towner had put his plane up as a stake. When he won it, he figured he'd sell it, but when he actually saw it, he'd found himself captivated by it. He found a guy to give him pilot's lessons under the table, and within a few months he'd racked up the hours to acquire his own private pilot's license.

The first time he'd flown solo, Remy had felt the most intense sense of freedom. Far better than riding his motorcycle, which he also loves. Even better than the first time he'd gotten his mutant power under control and had harnessed a card's kinetic energy intentionally rather than accidentally. Better, even, than when he'd looked around and realized that nobody was following him and he had actually made it off the Island.

Remy exceeds the speed limit and makes it out to the airfield in fifteen minutes. He parks his bike and walks out to the hangar. He breaks into a smile when he sees his baby, and he runs a hand over its shiny door. He goes to the office and arranges to have the tank refueled, happily parting with his ill-gotten gains. Hal, the owner, might not offer credit or 24-hour service, but he doesn't ask a lot of questions. He doesn't raise an eyebrow at Remy's slightly rumpled appearance, and he doesn't ask if Remy intends to file a flight plan.

Remy stands around and watches with satisfaction while his Cessna is refueled. Then he takes his navigation charts out of the plane and tucks them inside his coat. Whether or not he intends to inform the FAA where he's going, he will need to figure out some kind of flight plan.

Now... he should really call Bella. Or should he go see her in person? If he sees her in person, he's likely to gain forgiveness more quickly. But it will also take longer. He stretches his arms out over his head and weighs his options. He gets back on his bike and heads for a Winn-Dixie. There's a payphone out front, and he calls Bella. After several rings, her answering machine picks up and her low, sultry voice says, "This is Belladonna. Leave a message after the beep."

"Bella, cherie, you there? It's me... pick up, s'il vous plait... chere? All right, look, Remy's real sorry he didn't make it home last night. You gotta believe me, something big came up. I gotta get out of town for a spell. I'll be back real soon. I'll call you as soon as I can. Je t'aime, Bella."

She _must_ be pissed if she didn't even pick up, since he's sure she's home at this hour. Well, she'll get over it. She always does. And it really, truly wasn't Remy's fault this time. He hangs the phone up and pops into the grocery store. He had promised Logan breakfast, after all, and he didn't think he'd like dealing with a hungry Wolverine. He picks up a dozen eggs, some Swiss cheese, and a pound of ham. He grabs coffee and some croissants, too. He pays for his groceries with cash and flirts with the cashier out of habit. She writes her number on his receipt and he tucks it away in a pocket, though she's not really his type. Outside, he mounts his bike, awkwardly nestles the brown paper bag between his knees, and heads back Uptown.

Back at the safehouse, he finds Logan showered, dressed, and pacing up and down the length of the shotgun house.

"Morning, cher," he says jauntily.

Logan snorts. "Everything ready for tonight?"

"More or less." Remy moves to the kitchen and starts preparing coffee and omelets, whistling while he works. Logan follows him into the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

"What do you mean, more or less?"

"The plane's ready to go, I just got to look over the navigational charts and figure out the best way to get us there."

"I thought you said you knew where it was."

"I do. Still, I ain't never been back there."

"You sure you'll be able to find it again?"

"Oh, mon ami, trust me, you can't miss it." He isn't sure why he won't just tell Logan where the Island is. Partly, for the fun of it. And partly, well... if someone's going to go back and kill Stryker, Remy would like to be there to see it. As long as he doesn't tell Logan exactly where they're going, Logan needs him.

He pours two mugs of coffee and hands one to Logan, who sniffs it and makes a face.

"This don't smell right."

"It's with chicory," Remy explains. He thinks coffee tastes strange without it, but he's aware that it's a regional quirk.

Logan takes a doubtful sip. After the first taste, he nods and continues drinking. When Remy serves him an enormous omelet, he grunts, "Thanks," and eats it rapidly. Remy eats more deliberately, and Logan watches him. When they're both finished, Logan says, "So how'd you get off the Island, anyway?"

"With style," Remy says lightly. Logan smirks but doesn't press for followup.

The real answer would be closer to, "On a wing and a prayer." He'd managed to charm the lady doctor into skipping his regular drug dose, and then he'd grabbed a handful of file folders and fought his way out of the lab, tucking his own file inside his jumpsuit. He'd hidden in a dumpster until the trash was collected, counting on the stench of the garbage to keep Victor Creed off his trail. That had been a disgusting and terrifying ride, but he'd survived. Once he got off the Island, he'd stolen some clothes from a laundromat, ditched the maroon jumpsuit, and picked a few pockets until he'd scraped up bus fare back to New Orleans, all the while expecting to see Creed over his shoulder. He hadn't let out an easy breath until he'd made it back to the Big Easy, four buses and almost two days later.

Then he'd found out that his own adopted family had thought he was dead. Two years was a long time, and he had had the indelible experience of seeing a burial vault marked "Remy Etienne LeBeau 1966-1982." Jean-Luc had taken him to see it. It was the only time Remy had ever seen his père cry.

After he'd gotten resettled in New Orleans, Remy had gone to the doctor and inquired about radiation poisoning. Not until he escaped had he realized that he'd been stuck beneath the site of America's most famous nuclear disaster for two years, though he couldn't tell the doctor that. Instead he said he'd been travelling through Pennsylvania and had happened to spend a few days in Middletown before he realized it was the site of Three Mile Island. The doctor had rolled his eyes and assured him that people overreact to such things and no harm would come to him from such a tiny exposure. "Even the day it melted down, the people who were there got about as much radiation as from an X-ray," the doctor had said. "Just make sure you get an annual checkup and you'll be just fine, young man. You could stand to gain a little weight, though--what's the matter, isn't your girlfriend a good cook?"

Remy had been relieved at that diagnosis. He'd also read somewhere that alcohol could cure radiation poisoning--something about the way alcohol molecules interact with radiation, or something. Remy didn't really get it, but he happily downed plenty of liquor just in case. Who knows? It might save his life.

All in all, he supposed that if Stryker himself was willing to hang out there, it couldn't be that dangerous. Still, it was absolutely the perfect place to hide his godforsaken little prison, and part of Remy couldn't help but admire Stryker's balls.

Remy clears the table and washes the dishes. Then he spreads out his charts and bites his lip, calculating the distance from here to the Island. His reflexes and vision make him an above-average pilot, though he's never flown so far. His Cessna holds just under 60 gallons of avgas, not quite enough to make it all the way to Pennsylvania. They'll have to stop and refuel. Damn.

"Eh, Logan, you got any money?"

Logan smirks and says, "Seventeen dollars." Right, now Remy remembers laughing him out of his poker game. Remy sighs and reaches in his coat to check his cash supply. He'll have to pick a few more pockets, it seems.

Before long, Remy's figured out his flight plan, and he slips out to find a few marks. He prefers making his money at cards, or at big jobs. This is kids' stuff. In his irritation, he gets cocky and one man almost notices him. Remy smiles charmingly and asks directions to Jackson Park. Tourists love being mistaken for natives, and the man forgets his suspicion. Remy scurries back to the safehouse as soon as he has enough cash, popping a few more Tylenol before he enters the house.

Before long, everything is in order, and Logan follows him out to the airfield. Logan's whole posture has changed since they got to the hangar, and Remy abruptly realizes that the other man is nervous. Remy's nervous, too. He'd spent two years with Stryker and Creed and the rest of those sick fucks, and he doesn't think he could stand to be trapped there again. But this time will be different. He'll be there with Logan, the only person he's ever seen who could maybe take Creed in a fight. He'll be there with his plane, so he can get away on his own terms. And he hasn't been given any of Stryker's drugs. He'll be fine. After completing his pre-flight check, he smiles confidently at Logan before turning his attention to the runway.

The flight is long, through fairly uneventful. Refueling takes far more time than Remy had anticipated--the airfield he's landed at asks a lot more questions than Remy's used to, and it takes quite a lot of time before Remy's able to charm his way back into the sky. When they're finally aloft again, Remy suggests his plan to Logan.

"You want me to jump out of the plane and swim to shore?" he asks, incredulously. "You got a parachute in here?"

"Nah, but I think you will be just fine, non?" he says cheerfully. He'd seen the way Logan could heal. "That will give you the biggest element of surprise. I'll stash the plane and join you later."

Logan sighs. "Yeah, fine," he says, his jaw clenched. "It's a plan."

"I'll drop you real close, I promise."

The remainder of their trip is terse, and Logan starts ragging on Remy's flying skills. Remy just laughs. He knows there's pretty much nobody who could fly through this weather any more smoothly than this. But as the lights of the Island become visible through his windshield, Remy grows tense, too.

He decreases his altitude and Logan makes his jump. They wish each other luck, and mean it.

Now for the tricky part--Remy has to find something that will serve as a runway. He circles the Island, staying low. Increasingly concerned messages start coming over his radio, and he turns down the volume. Thankful for his excellent night vision, he takes a gamble and carefully goes in for a landing on an empty stretch of road. He doesn't see any headlights, and he trusts that not too many people are driving around a nuclear power plant at this hour. His gamble pays off. He taxis to a stop and hops out of the plane, wincing a little as he lands. His ankle still hurts from yesterday, but he isn't going to let that stop him.

Using all of his Thieves Guild training, Remy silently makes his way through the trees, looking and listening for any friends or, more likely, foes. He circles around the power plant, trying to remember where the entrance to the godforsaken lower level is. But before he can get down there, something else catches his eye. Logan, Creed, and... someone shooting red lasers are all fighting on top of one of the cooling towers. Jesus, how did they even get up there? And is it really morning already? He supposes it _had_ taken quite some time to find a suitable place to land and get back over to the power plant. He must not have noticed the sun starting to rise.

He finds a good hiding place and watches the fight. He thinks about joining the fray, but he's not sure if he could make it up there, or if he'd be able to do any good against whoever Logan's fighting. But when he sees Logan jump down from the collapsing, he makes his move. He charges his staff and manages to destroy a piece of falling wall before it could land on his new friend. He smiles, pleased to have made such a dramatic entrance.

"You miss me?" he asks, ignoring the pain in his ankle that flares up after that little maneuver.

"Jesus," Logan says, rolling his eyes.

Remy adds, "You know, when you said you were going to kill everyone, I thought you may just have been exaggerating."

"Do I look like a man who exaggerates?"

It's a fair point, and Remy laughs and says, "You're welcome." He shares a brief look with Logan. Remy's genuinely pleased to see the other man, and he has a lot of questions. Did he really do it? Did he kill Stryker? What about Creed?

Abruptly, Logan says, "There's kids trying to get off the Island. Split up. Go!"

"I'm on it," Remy replies. He'll have plenty of time to ask Logan questions on their flight back. He runs off, feeling a brief pang of regret. Why hadn't he come back sooner to try to save some of these kids? He knows what it's like to be one of Stryker's lab rats. Of course, to come back by himself would have been suicidal. His body tenses as he enters the facility, and he hears a voice in his head say, _The children are safe, Remy. Come with us_.

What the hell? Remy stops to look around, and the voice says, _Keep going_. Remy's policy is to always trust his gut, and his gut tells him to listen to this voice. He runs up the open ramp to the outside world, where he sees a black helicopter, a group of kids in those familiar maroon jumpsuits, and a bald man in a brown coat. The bald man briefly glances up at him and smiles. In his head he hears, _My name is Charles Xavier. I have a school for young mutants. Come with us, Remy. You'll be safe_.

Remy shakes his head. School? He's done with school. And anyway, he has to look after Logan. He feels the weirdest sensation in his head, and then the voice says, _Very well, Remy. If you ever change your mind, you would always be welcome at my school in New York. And make sure you get out of here quickly. I will try to keep your plane safe as long as I can_.

Remy knows he's made the right decision. New York's too damn cold for this Cajun. But all the same, he thinks, _Thank you._ He feels that he can trust this Xavier guy, that the kids are in good hands. It's as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, knowing that Stryker doesn't have any more mutants to play with.

He watches the last of the kids board the helicopter, and turns back to where he'd last seen Logan, and he sucks in a breath when he sees his friend lying on the ground.

"The kids are safe," he calls, happy to have good news. He gets closer and actually watches Logan's head wound heal. "Damn," he says. If Logan could get shot in the head and survive, what would it take to kill him?

"Who are you?"

"What do you mean who am I? I'm the guy who brought you here, and we gotta go," Remy says, bewildered.

"Where the hell am I?" Logan growls. When Remy approaches, Logan grabs him. Remy can't help but be a little turned on, though he doesn't think this is the best place for a fuck.

"I'm a friend. A friend," he says, holding his hands out unthreateningly.

"Yeah? What's my name? _What's my name?_ "

Remy would almost wonder if this was some kind of game, but he's looking into Logan's eyes. He's a little scared by the expression he sees there, one of confusion and fear. He supposes it would make sense that getting shot in the head would make a guy lose his memories, if it didn't outright kill him.

In his most soothing voice, Remy says, "Your name is Logan." Logan stares into his face, and Remy wishes he knew Logan's first name. Or his last name? Remy continues, "You have to trust me. We have to go."

Still staring into his eyes, Logan lets Remy go. Remy bites back a sigh of relief. He really did not want to have to fight Logan again. But Logan's eyes still frighten him.

Remy has no idea how to help his new friend. They've known each other for barely a day. He's hardly the ideal person to help Logan recover from amnesia. But right now all he needs to do is get Logan out of here, and Remy doesn't usually have any trouble convincing people to come home with him.

"Follow me. Now!" He lets out a breath of relief when Logan starts to run after him, back toward the plane. But they only make it about ten feet before they see a woman lying amidst the rubble.

Logan stops to feel for a pulse, but she's clearly dead. A shame--she's lovely, but Remy doesn't recognize her.

"Do you know her?" he asks. Who knows--even though Logan doesn't remember his own name, maybe he remembers this woman. It would be a start.

"No," Logan says, and then they both hear sirens.

"Hey, these folks ain't gonna like what you've done to this place," Remy says. It's an understatement, he thinks, as he surveys the destruction. "Let's go."

"I'll find my own way," Logan says, looking again at the woman.

Remy hesitates. He really doesn't think it's a good idea to leave an amnesiac human weapon alone here, not for Logan and not for the people who find him. But Remy also has a keen sense of self-preservation, and if Logan doesn't understand how important it is to get off the Island now, Remy has no idea how else he can convince him. So he says, "Good luck," aware of how inadequate a sentiment it is, and then runs back toward his plane as fast as he can, trying to stay out of sight of the rapidly approaching police cars and fire engines. He's sure Logan can catch up with him, if he changes his mind in the next three minutes. He's also sure that Logan can take care of himself.

He's pleasantly surprised to see that his Cessna is unattended. Just good luck, or is Xavier still watching his back? Well, he'll take whatever he can get. He slides into the pilot's seat, does a quick pre-flight check, and starts the engine. The lapsed Catholic mutters a quick prayer before he starts to taxi down the makeshift runway.

There is just no way he can take off without attracting a lot of attention to himself, and all he can do is hope and pray that the authorities have other things to worry about, like preventing another nuclear meltdown. He braces himself for threatening messages on the radio, but nothing comes in. He suspects that he owes Charles Xavier big time--either that or he should have been paying more attention when his père dragged him to church all those Sundays. Whatever the source, he has no idea how long this blessing will last, and Remy focuses on putting as much distance between the Island and himself as possible. He burns through his fuel quickly and has to land at an airfield in West Virginia.

He tries to act casual, and luckily no one there pays him any mind. If there's any kind of bulletin out for him and his plane, these people haven't heard it yet. While he waits for his tank to fill, he notices that Logan had left his leather jacket sitting on the passenger seat of the plane. He runs his fingers over it and remembers the way it had looked on Logan. It was a pity they'd had to part ways so suddenly. Well, he'll hold onto the jacket. Who knows if he'll see Logan again? People have a way of turning up in New Orleans whether they mean to or not. It's just that kind of city.

After he pays for his fuel, he whistles to himself happily. He lifts off and finally relaxes. He should be able to get back to New Orleans with this, as long as there's not too much wind, and once he's there he knows he'll be fine. If anyone does come looking for him, he'll have the Guild. Remy's managed to escape from Stryker's grasp once again. Although... he hadn't had the chance to ask Logan what had actually happened on the Island. He hadn't seen Stryker's body anywhere. Well, no matter. Even if he's alive, he won't be returning to the Island for quite some time, and all his mutant subjects have been rescued. That's enough to keep a smile on Remy's face the whole way home.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
_How does it feel  
To be without a home  
Like a complete unknown  
Like a rolling stone?_  
\-- Bob Dylan, Like a Rolling Stone

It's all too much. He can hear the tiniest movements of insects in the trees. These sirens and people yelling hurt his ears. He smells blood, and death, and strange smells that he cannot identify but that he instinctively knows are unnatural.

He thinks that the men in blue uniforms are yelling at him, but he can't quite process it. He turns to leave, and he feels bullets pierce his flesh. He screams in rage, though the burning pain quickly subsides. Still, how dare they? Who do they think they are? He looks down at his hands and realizes that gleaming metal claws have come out. He thinks he knows what to do with these. He runs at the men who are shooting at him, feels their flesh give way under his claws.

He is a predator, and they are his prey.

Finally, no one is left to stand in his way. He wipes his claws on his pants and frowns down at them. Experimentally, he flexes his hands. Ah, yes, there is a muscle that controls the claws. He watches as they slide back into his hands, watches his flesh seal itself back up. Good, then.

What now? He's hungry. He sniffs the air and processes what his senses are telling him. There are more people, more buildings not too far away. He moves toward them, and notices that the terrible, unnatural smell is fading. He crosses a bridge on foot and moves swiftly toward the smell of people. He walks for a short distance and stops, drawn by the smell of meat and grease. He sees a yellow M. McDonald's, the sign says. He walks through the door and looks around. Tables, chairs, people eating. It smells good. He realizes everyone is staring at him.

A small woman in a red polo shirt and visor comes up to him and says, nervously, "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" He can smell fear on her, but he won't hurt her. It's wrong to hurt women, he knows that much. He can feel it in his bones.

"What?"

"You--you look--do you need a doctor?"

"No, I don't need a doctor," he snarls. "I just need some food."

"Um. Well. S-sure. Just, um, just come up to the register, and we'll, we'll be happy to help you." He follows her to the counter and stares at the words printed above the register. "What can I get for you, sir?" the woman asks.

"Just--a burger."

"Sure. Would you like fries with that?"

"Uh... yes."

"For here or to go?"

"Uh... to go." He's not sure where he's going, but he can already tell he doesn't want to stay here.

"That will be one dollar and seven cents."

Does he have any money? He checks his pockets and finds a worn brown leather wallet. He opens it and finds seventeen dollars. He peels off two bills and hands them to her, smelling her relief as he does so.

She hands him his change and says, "We'll have that right up for you, sir."

He nods and waits patiently. Soon, the woman hands him a white paper bag and says, "Have a great day!" He takes the bag, nods, and leaves.

Outside, he sits on the sidewalk and eats his meal. The hamburger is tiny and the fries burn his mouth, which quickly heals. He wants more food but he does not want to go back in that place, so he keeps going down the road. He soon comes to another place that smells like food, a restaurant called Hardee's that looks almost identical to the place he had just left. He receives a similarly terrified reaction in this restaurant, and he finally realizes that his clothing and skin are stained with grime and blood, which must be what's frightening people. He awkwardly crosses his arms over his chest to try to hide some of it while he orders five hamburgers and no fries to go. He quickly eats them outside and wonders what on earth he should do.

He looks at the metal tags around his neck for clues. One says "Logan," which the kid with the brown leather coat had said was his name. The other says "Wolverine." Is that his name too? Both tags also say "45825243 T78 A." What in the hell does that mean? Is it a phone number? He decides to keep walking into the town. He's almost out of money now. Maybe he can get a job?

A white car slows down alongside him and a man in black suit with a white collar--a priest, Logan thinks--says, "Son, you need a lift?"

Logan hesitates before saying, "No."

"Where you headed?"

"I... I don't know."

The man chuckles. "Well, that's fair enough. Where are you coming from? Not much out that way, besides the power plant, and I don't know why anyone would be out there."

"I don't remember."

The man says, "Son, why don't you come with me? I promise, I don't aim to hurt you. I know a place where you can get cleaned up a bit, maybe find some... some new clothes for you. Get a hot meal, too. All right?"

Logan considers. He sniffs the air. The man isn't lying, and Logan says, "All right." The man looks like he might be in his 60s. He has silver hair and his blue eyes seem kind.

The man beams. "Wonderful." He reaches over and pulls open the passenger door for him, and Logan awkwardly climbs in the car.

"I'm Father O'Brien," he says, extending a hand. "What's your name, son?"

Logan hesitantly shakes the man's hand, aware that his own are dirty. "Logan."

Father O'Brien smiles and points at Logan's tags. "Were you in the Army, Logan?"

"I--is that what these tags are from?"

Father O'Brien's smile fades. "You really don't remember?" Logan shakes his head. "Well," Father O'Brien continues, "I've seen this kind of thing before. War--war isn't always kind to its soldiers, even the ones who survive. Thank you for your service."

A soldier? Maybe. Something about that sounds right to Logan. His face must betray his confusion, because Father O'Brien says, reassuringly, "Don't worry, son. We'll get you the help you need."

Logan looks out the window and wonders what help he needs. He thinks back to the kid with the brown leather coat who had left him this morning; the man who had known his name and who had tried to persuade Logan to come with him. He wonders now why he didn't go with him. That man probably knew more about Logan than Logan himself knew. Logan can still remember what that kid smelled like. If Logan ever gets near him again, he's sure he'll recognize that scent.

A few times as they drive, he hears the priest open his mouth as if to speak, but he doesn't say anything until they reach the parking lot of the Bethesda Mission. Father O'Brien touches a buzzer. Over an intercom, a tired female voice says, "We're not open to residents until 6pm."

"It's me. Tom. I have a... special case." There's a click, and Father O'Brien opens the door. Logan follows him into a small room with a few plastic chairs, a desk, and some locked filing cabinets. A woman with curly blonde hair looks him up and down. He hates it here already. It smells like bleach and like too many people.

"Well," she says. "You always meet the most interesting people, Tom, I'll give you that." She offers Logan a hand. "I'm Laura. What's your name?"

"Logan."

"Nice to meet you, Logan. Is that your first name or your last name?"

"I... don't know."

She raises her eyebrows at that, and Father O'Brien says, "I found him on the side of the road, outside of Middletown. Says he doesn't remember anything, but he's got those dogtags..."

"May I see?" Laura asks.

Logan shrugs, and she reaches a hand out to study them. "Logan. Wolverine?" she says. "Well, that really just raises more questions than it answers, doesn't it? First things first, let's get you cleaned up, Logan." She reaches in her pocket and pulls out a big ring of keys, and she unlocks a door. "Come with me."

He follows her out of the front office and down a hallway. She unlocks another door, which turns out to be some kind of storage closet. She sizes him up and hands him a towel, a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, a blue plaid flannel shirt, a pair of plain white underwear, and some rubber sandals. "We'll see about getting you some new shoes soon," she says apologetically. "I'm pretty good at guessing sizes but if those clothes don't work for you, well, we'll try something else. Now, I'll show you to the bathroom." She leads him to a large bathroom with urinals, two toilet stalls, and five shower stalls.

"There's soap and shampoo in all the stalls already. No one else is in right now, so you can just take your pick, all right? I'll be back out in the front office when you're ready. And we... we can try to wash your other clothes."

"Thanks," he says. He picks the closest shower stall and shucks off his clothes. They are pretty dirty, he reflects. He's pretty dirty too. He stands under the shower for a long time before the water runs clean down the drain. He towels off and tries on his new clothes. The jeans are a little snug and the shirt's a little baggy, but what can you do? He stands in the bathroom for a moment and listens. He can clearly hear Tom and Laura talking.

Laura says, "... not a criminal or something? You saw how much blood was on his clothes."

"How do you know it wasn't his?"

"I didn't see any marks on him."

"Not all marks can be seen from the outside, Laura. This man needs our help."

"Father... we can't save them all, you know. We're almost full here."

"This man has served our country, Laura. We owe this to him."

"I'm not so sure about that, Father. Those tags... I mean they didn't even have a first name. Or a last name, I guess, I don't know. I've seen military dog tags, and so have you, and those aren't right."

"Well, let's look into it. There was a number on them. I'll call the VA and see if they can find any records of him. In the meantime, he needs to see a doctor."

A doctor? Logan's blood grows cold at the thought of a doctor. He's not quite sure why. A doctor could maybe help him with his memories. A doctor could maybe tell him how he got those metal claws. Is it worth the risk? These people seem kind, like they actually want to help him. He decides he'll stay, at least for today. And if he needs to get away, he's sure he can. He puts his dirty socks back on and tugs his boots over them. No way is he wearing rubber sandals. He gathers up the towel, sandals, and his old clothes and he heads back down the hallway.

"Well, that's a bit better, isn't it?" Laura asks him. "Oh, I'll get you a razor so you can shave."

Logan blinks. He doesn't think that he is the type of person who shaves, but he decides to go along with this for now. He follows Laura back down the hallway where she again unlocks the storage closet, handing him a black disposable razor and a small can of shaving cream. In the bathroom, he stares at himself in the mirror while he tries his best to remove his beard. His reflection in the mirror doesn't look quite right, but Laura smiles approvingly when he returns.

"Looks great, Logan," she says. "Now, I'll give you a little tour. It won't take long." She shows him the common room, the dining room, and a bedroom. It has two sets of bunk beds and four lockers. She taps an empty mattress. "This will be you. We'll get you some sheets, of course. You're bed number four in room seven, all right?" She tells him that dinner is at six, breakfast is at eight, and he's not allowed to be there between nine and six. She pauses and asks, "Now, are you a drinking man?"

"I don't know."

She laughs at that. "Well, I suppose you'll find out soon enough. However, we do not allow alcohol or drugs on the premises, nor do we allow anyone on the premises who we believe is drunk or under the influence of drugs. We do offer AA and NA meetings. Please ask any of the staff if you're interested. We also have Bible study every night--not required, but... recommended. Are you a Christian, Logan?"

"I don't--"

"You don't know. Right. Well, you know, you might as well start studying the Lord's word!"

"All right," Logan agrees.

"Wonderful," Laura says. She beams and Logan realizes she's pretty. Maybe he won't mind it here, he thinks. She continues, "Now, Father O'Brien is looking into getting a doctor to see about your... memory loss. I'll let you know when he finds someone. It's almost five now, so I suppose you might as well just wait here until dinner. In the common room there's a TV and some books and games. Does that sound all right?"

"Sure."

In the common room, Logan peruses the limited library and picks out a book called _I'm OK, You're OK_. Laura nods approvingly at his choice and he settles in. Maybe he can stay here, he thinks.

As far as he can tell, the book is nonsense, but he muddles through until dinner time. It talks a lot about the relationships between parents and children, and it occurs to him that he must have had parents. For the life of him, he can't remember what they were like or what their names might be.

When the other residents turn up, they all pray before receiving their plates of canned corn, mashed potatoes, and meatloaf. The food isn't bad but Logan finds it difficult to deal with so many people in one room. The sounds, the smells--it's overwhelming. He takes deep breaths to calm himself. After dinner, one of the men turns to him with hungry eyes and says, "Hey, new guy, you got any smokes?"

"No, sorry," Logan says, but the phrase sounds familiar. He thinks he might like to smoke too.

"Fuck you! Don't you lie to me!" the man says, shoving him.

"What?" Logan says. Before he even realizes what he's doing, he punches the man, who goes down like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey! No fighting!" a man shouts. He's a tall, strong man. He'd led the prayer before dinner, and he approaches Logan.

"He started it," Logan says. He can smell the coppery scent of blood, and he looks down to see that the other man's nose is bleeding.

The mission employee rolls his eyes. "Look, new guy, we don't tolerate fighting here. This is your one and only warning, all right?"

"Hey, I'm going to defend myself if somebody starts something."

"Then you're going to end up right back on the streets, mister." The man shakes his head. "If I were you, I'd pray for patience. And forgiveness." He bends down to check on the man who had shoved Logan, who groans and sits up.

Logan walks away without saying anything, and he heads for the common room. But now it's too crowded. There's nowhere to sit, and the TV is too loud. The room smells bad. So he takes a book and goes back to Room 7. But the man who had broken up the fight stops him and says, "Hey, nice try. No common property allowed in the bedrooms. If you want to read, you gotta read in the common room."

Logan sighs. He puts the book back in the common room and lays down on his bed, a top bunk. At least it's quieter in here, although he can still hear all the chatter and commotion. Before too long, though, Laura knocks on his door and says, "Logan, how are you doing?"

"All right," he says.

"I heard... there was an incident after dinner."

"That guy started it!" Logan says defensively.

Laura sighs. "I know... it isn't easy to be the new person here. But you can't let others provoke you, Logan." He makes no response to this and after a brief pause, Laura continues, "Do you want to come to Bible study?"

"Yeah, all right."

"Wonderful!" She sounds so genuinely happy that Logan smiles. He follows her to a small room and he sits on an uncomfortable plastic chair. There are sixteen other men in the room, and they go around and introduce themselves to Logan. Most of them have their own Bibles with them, and the guy next to him lets Logan look on.

Laura asks if anyone has anything they'd like for the group to pray on. One man raises his hand and says he has a job interview. Another man says his son is up for parole. Logan feels uncomfortable. Then, Laura asks for a volunteer to read today's verses. A frail old man raises his hand. "Thank you, Harold," she says with a smile.

Harold reads with a booming voice, a voice much stronger than the man looks. "In those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the wilderness of Judea and saying, 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.' This is he who was spoken of through the prophet Isaiah: 'A voice of one calling in the wilderness, prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.’"

Logan kind of zones out while Harold reads. He doesn't realize he's stopped paying attention until he hears Laura's clear voice say, "Thank you, Harold. Now, who can tell me, in their own words, what these verses are about? Anyone? Yes, thank you, Carl?"

"About--baptism, and being clean for God. About how sometimes, in this life, you got to be lonely and you got to suffer." He pauses and adds, softly, "'Bout how you got to resist temptation."

"Thank you, Carl. That was very nice." Then she makes them go around the table and say what temptations they have to resist. The men say booze, drugs, women, gambling. When it comes to Logan he shrugs and says, "Guess the same things as everybody else."

A few of the men giggle at that, but Logan hadn't meant it as a joke. Laura asks another man, Jim, to lead the closing prayer. Jim quietly thanks Jesus for the Bethesda Mission, for the Bible, for the fellowship, and for second chances. Logan can smell the man's sincerity, and it intrigues him. He smells lust on some of the other men, and he knows they are only here for Laura. Logan himself thinks that he needs a lot more information before he can decide how he feels about this Jesus business. It sounds pretty far-fetched, but what does he know?

As soon as the meeting's over, he slips back to his room before Laura can ask him any more questions. He lies in his cot and tries desperately to dig up any memories. Had he ever gone to church? Had he ever had a drinking problem? Does he have a family? But try as he might, he can remember absolutely nothing before this morning. Before long, he hears someone announce, "Lights out in fifteen minutes!" Three men come join him in room seven. None of them acknowledge his presence, which is fine with Logan. Someone comes by with a clipboard to make sure they're all in bed, and the lights are turned off.

Logan tosses and turns before finally falling asleep, but he wakes up in the middle of the night. He's had a horrible nightmare, he was under water, in a tank... he was in such pain in his dream. He sits up in bed and finds that his claws are out. He catches his breath and forces them back into his hands. He manages to calm down and fall back into a fitful sleep.

At breakfast in the morning, the same employee who'd been harassing Logan the previous day approaches him and says, "All right, Mr. Logan, that's it. I heard you had knives out last night, and that is simply not allowed."

"What?" Logan asks, genuinely confused. "That's bullshit, I don't have any knives. I don't have _anything_." By the time he's finished defending himself, he realizes--one of his roommates must have seen his claws last night. Well, he certainly doesn't intend on revealing _those_ right now.

"We'll see about that," the man says. "I'm doing a room inspection, right now."

Logan's jaw tenses. He can't deal with this place, these rules, these smells, these _people_. "Inspect it all you want, asshole," he says, and he storms out of the dining room. He storms out of the shelter and never returns. Briefly he thinks of Father O'Brien, and Laura, and he wishes he could explain to them what had happened. But he's sure they'll forget him soon enough.

Out on the street Logan realizes that he's not much better off than he was yesterday. He does have new, clean clothes, which is a plus. But he still has no money, no ID (aside from the metal tags), and no clue who he is. He takes a breath, enjoying the fresh air, and decides to put some distance between himself and the Bethesda Mission. He walks for a few miles before getting a ride with a long haul truck driver named Chuck. Chuck asks, "Where you headed, man?"

Logan says, "Away from here."

"Fair enough. I'm headed west. Taking Hershey's chocolate to the good people of Chicago."

Logan nods. He sits quietly in the passenger seat while Chuck chats at length about his ex-wife ("Frigid"), his girlfriend ("Bitchy, but she's got a great rack"), and his three-year-old daughter ("Haven't seen her since Christmas, but there's a photo there on the dash. She's a cutie, isn't she?") Logan grunts at what he assumes are the appropriate times. Somewhere in Ohio they stop for lunch at a truck stop. Logan's down to $11 and he spends $3.50 on a patty melt. After lunch, apparently having run out of women in his life to discuss, Chuck starts asking Logan questions.

Logan had decided not to reveal his total amnesia. It seems like it would put him in a vulnerable position. Instead, he creates a life for himself.

"You from around here?"

"No."

"Well, where you from then?"

"Canada."

"Canada?"

"Y'know. Up north."

"Well, what brought you to Pennsylvania, then?"

"Lookin' for work."

"You a miner?"

"I was."

Chuck nods sympathetically. "This economy, man. They're laying off everybody. You ever thought about trucking?"

"I've... thought about it," Logan lies. "How do you like it?"

Chuck grins and begins extolling the virtues of truck driving. This keeps him busy for at least an hour. Then he starts asking Logan about girlfriends. Logan tastes every lie he tells, hoping that eventually he might stumble onto the truth. So far, nothing he's said feels particularly right to him.

A sign informs them that they're entering central standard time zone, and before long they're pulling up at an enormous boxy building.

Chuck says, "Hey, man, I got to take care of unloading and alla that. I'm gonna sleep here in my cab and then tomorrow I'll get a new shipment and take that further on west. You been real good company, you're welcome to stay on with me if you want. But if it's jobs you're lookin' for, you could do worse than Chicago."

Logan takes a moment to consider. He hasn't minded this day on the road with Chuck--it's been much more tolerable than his night at the Mission. But he thinks he had better be moving on. After all, he's almost out of money. So he thanks Chuck for the ride and he takes off on foot along the highway. He can walk a long time before he tires, but he doesn't know where he is going.

He makes it into the city proper and ends up sleeping on a park bench. He doesn't mind sleeping outdoors, but he dislikes the smells and sounds of the city. He decides he should get out of Chicago as soon as he can, and the police officer who shakes him awake at six am seems to feel likewise.

He decides he should head north. Of all the stories he had tried telling about himself, the only one that had rang true was Canada. Maybe that's why his dogtags didn't look right at the Mission. Maybe they were Canadian tags. He briefly wonders why they don't have an address on them; he had thought that the point of such tags was so that a person's remains could be returned to their families. Perhaps Logan has no family.

He makes his way out of the city. The skyscrapers overwhelm his sense of direction, and occasionally he stops people to ask which way is north. Mostly these people ignore him. A few give him sympathetic looks and point him in the right way. One woman gives him a dollar and says, "Don't you spend it on drugs, mind."

Out of the city, he breathes a little easier. He walks along the highway. He gets a ride into Wisconsin with two young guys. They talk a lot about something called Badger Football. Logan wants to ask if Badger Football has different rules from regular football but he does not think it wise to reveal his ignorance, so he sits quietly and looks out the window. The terrain shifts and grows hillier and rockier. It looks more like Pennsylvania than like Illinois. Logan prefers this landscape. They arrive in Madison, near the University of Wisconsin campus. He thanks them for the ride and they ask if he can buy beer for them.

"We'll pay you twenty bucks if you can get us a couple six-packs," one of them says.

Logan shrugs. "Yeah, sure."

They give him money and take him to a liquor store. He picks out two six-packs of Coors and goes to pay. The bored clerk barely glances at him and says, "Four-fifty." Logan pays and pockets the change. Outside, Logan hands the beer to the kids.

"Thanks, man."

"You're cool."

"You should party with us sometime."

He shrugs and says, "Yeah. Sometime. Thanks for the ride." He walks away from them with no clear destination in mind and suddenly finds himself walking along a tidy path along a lake. He picks up a newspaper out of a trash can, the Badger Herald from Sunday, September 8, 1985. Until now, Logan hadn't really known what year it was. He still doesn't know what day it is. Probably Monday, if people are throwing away Sunday's paper?

Logan quickly learns what Badger Football is. He also turns to the classified ads section to see if there are any jobs. A cafe needs dishwashers. A band needs a drummer. A professor needs a research assistant. He sighs. None of those sound right. He turns the page.

A landscape company needs "general labor," which Logan thinks he can do. He tucks the paper in his pocket and walks back the way he had come, hoping for a pay phone. He spots one, fishes in his pocket for a quarter, and calls the landscaping company. He gets invited to apply in person at an office that turns out to be a few miles from where Logan is. He sets off on foot. When he arrives, he is flummoxed by the application.

He hesitates a moment before asking the receptionist, "Look, do you really need all of this stuff? Can't I just, you know, work?"

She laughs. "I'm afraid we do need to have all of this information on file."

"But--"

"Please just fill it out," she says coolly, as a tanned, middle-aged man in a polo shirt and khakis enters the room.

"Hello, Trish!"

"Hello, Mr. McKee."

The man--Mr. McKee, Logan supposes--glances at Logan and says, "Hello there."

Logan nods.

Mr. McKee says, "You're not giving Trish any trouble, are you?"

"No, I just--I was just wondering--if you really need all this information." The man sizes him up and gives him a shrewd look.

"What's your name, son?" he asks.

"Logan."

"Logan. Why don't you come with me and we'll chat in my office?"

The man offers him ten dollars a day, cash, no questions asked, as long as Logan can do the work they ask of him. Logan accepts, and is told to report back at seven the next morning, "dressed to work."

Logan is always dressed to work.

That night he goes to a grocery store and buys two packs of lunchmeat. He eats them quickly on a bench in Brittingham Park. He walks the park, watching people walk their dogs and college kids throwing footballs and Frisbees. Eventually, night falls and everyone else leaves the park. Logan curls up to sleep under a picnic shelter. He briefly worries that he won't make it to his new job by seven tomorrow, but it isn't like he has anywhere to put an alarm clock. It isn't like he has an alarm clock. He shouldn't have worried, though--he wakes up the next morning at first light. Plenty of time to visit the park's public bathroom and rinse his face and hands. He wishes he had a toothbrush. Maybe he can pick one up on his way to work--but where would he keep it?

He works hard all week, cutting up trees, mowing lawns, watering flowers, hauling rocks, and doing anything else asked of him. Most of his co-workers don't speak much English, which is fine with him.

At the end of the week, Mr. McKee hands him an envelope with forty dollars cash. Logan nods his thanks. Afterward, Jim, one of his few white co-workers, says, "Hey, Logan, we're going out for some beers after work. You wanna come?"

"Uh... sure," Logan says.

"Cool. We're just gonna go home and shower, but we're meeting at the Church Key, on University. You know that place?"

"No, uh, I'm kinda new in town."

"You want a ride? I can pick you up."

"Nah, nah. I'm sure I can find it. University?"

"Yeah. Okay, cool, see you around seven."

"Seven," Logan repeats. He tucks his envelope into his pocket and goes to try to tidy up in a park bathroom. He likes that Madison has so many parks. There are still a more people than he'd like, but it definitely beats Chicago. Uncertainly, he thinks about winter, but that's a ways off. He has time.

That night at the bar he drinks some beers and chats with Jim, Josh, and Todd. They all hate landscaping and love football, and none of them seem to mind that Logan has little to say on either count.

Several beers later, Logan approaches the bar for another pitcher. While he waits, a wiry young guy points out a girl at the other end of the bar and slurs, "Hey. Guy. Hey. I'm talking to you. Do you think that girl is pretty?"

Logan looks. He shrugs in response.

"What?" the kid asks, suddenly outraged. He takes a swing at Logan.

Logan easily dodges and hits the guy back. Hard. Blood is shed. Police are called. Logan decides he had better leave. A bartender tries to stop him, but not very hard.

In this fashion Logan travels from town to town, working for a few weeks at a time. He learns that minimum wage is $3.35 an hour, but that no one will pay him that if he doesn't have a social security number. Or a full name.

In Saint Cloud, Minnesota he finds a Veteran's Affairs office and asks about his dog tags. A pleasant young man glances at them and says, "These aren't real Army tags. They don't have enough information."

Logan says, "Oh." There's a pause, and he adds, "Just, I found them... I think... maybe they were my dad's?"

"And you can't ask your dad?"

"No. He's... he's dead," Logan says. It's probably true, anyway.

"Was he a soldier?"

"I don't know," Logan says. "I don't know anything about him."

The man behind the desk sighs. "Let me see them again." He studies them. "I'm not sure about this number. It's not a soc, and that's usually what's on tags."

"A sosh?"

"Social security number. You might take these down to the Eagles Club. Lotta old timers hang out there, lotta vets. If this was your dad's, maybe it's something one of them might recognize. Who knows?"

Logan nods. "Well. Thanks," he says. It had been worth a try, anyway.

"You're welcome. Sorry I couldn't be of more help." As Logan turns out to go, the guy calls, "Hang on, sir--do you have a coat?"

"Uh... no," Logan says, hoping he's not about to be chastised for breaking some kind of coat rule. He finds himself frequently bewildered by what behaviors are considered acceptable and what are not.

"It's about to get real cold, you know. Hang on just a minute." Logan waits as the man leaves the office. He comes back a minute later with a warm plaid hunter's jacket with a fleece lining. "We're having a coat drive here, you know, for the shelter, but... well, there's plenty of coats in the box, you know?"

"Thanks," Logan says. "Much obliged." Something inside him doesn't like taking the coat, doesn't like getting something for nothing. But he knows the man is right--it is getting cold, and Logan knows it would take a long time before he had managed to put together enough money to buy a warm coat like this.

"God bless you," the man says with a smile.

Logan takes the man's advice and tracks down the local Eagles Club, but nobody there has any clue about his tags, and they all seem suspicious when Logan admits he doesn't know his father's first name. He's picked John for his own first name. It doesn't sound quite right, but it's better than telling people that he just doesn't know his first name. Not having a first name is definitely not an acceptable behavior.

He zips up his new coat and moves on.

In Cheyenne, Wyoming, Logan fights for money for the first time. He takes all comers in the seedy little ring, and in one night he makes more money than in a month of construction work. He leaves the cage without a scratch to show for it. Afterward, some guys try to jump him in the parking lot, but they don't know what they're getting into.

Before long, Logan has saved up enough to buy a shitty pickup truck. God, he loves that truck. The truck means freedom, it means home. He doesn't mind the fights, either. They're never really challenging, but still, it's enough to get his heart racing.

He finds that women are much more interested in him when he's a cage fighter than they had been when he was an itinerant laborer. He allows himself to be seduced, to get taken back to apartments or cheap motel rooms. But only once does he try to sleep the whole night with a woman. It ends badly. He has a nightmare, and when he finally snaps out of it, she's bleeding from three distinct wounds. Instinct takes over. He shreds the sheet and field dresses her wounds. Then calls 911 and flees, driving all night. For the next few days he scans all the area newspapers he can get his hands on, but he never sees anything about a young woman stabbed to death, so he assumes she must have lived.

In Bellingham, Washington, someone sells him a fake ID. The man laughs and says, "Usually my customers is college kids or Mexicans." Logan doesn't laugh. He takes his new driver's license and heads north on Highway 5. He crosses the border into Canada and stops for the night in Vancouver. So far he is disappointed. He had thought that things would be different in Canada, but they are pretty much the same. The only difference is that when he finally finds a place running cage fights, he's paid in brightly colored Canadian dollars. The looks of fear and grudging respect he earns look exactly the same as they had in America.

Still, he stays in Canada. He begins to makes a name for himself in the world of cage fighting. He gets job offers--personal trainer, bodyguard, security officer. But he turns them all down until one day a tall, confident man with a guarded smile and glossy black hair approaches him in a bar.

"Ah, Wolverine. We have been waiting for you."

Logan takes a swig of his beer and makes no response. The man clicks his tongue disapprovingly and says, "Well, I suppose you are known for your fighting skills, not for your manners. Now, Logan. I'd like to talk to you."

"So talk," Logan says, without looking up.

"I would like to offer you a job with my family's business."

"Not interested."

"I'll make you a deal, Logan. I want you to fight me. If you win, I will give you ten thousand dollars and you'll never see me again. But if I win, you will come train with me."

Logan sizes the man up and gives him a sharp smile. The guy clearly does not know who he's dealing with. "All right. Deal."

The man gives him a slight bow and extends a hand. Logan takes it, noticing the man's firm handshake. "My name is Kenichirō Yashida."

"Logan."

Logan drains his beer and says, "All right, you wanna fight?"

"Not _here_ ," Kenichirō says, as if the very idea puts a bad taste in his mouth. He reaches in the pocket of his suit and hands Logan a business card. "We will meet here. Tomorrow, at eight am. We will fight. I look forward to it."

"Yeah, sounds great," Logan says. He studies the card, for a place called the Evolve Fitness Center, and wonders if it's some kind of trap. Well, if it is, he suspects he can fight his way out of it somehow. He's done some experimenting in the past year and found that there doesn't seem to be anything that his claws can't cut through. He's found that his bones never break. He's found that no matter how much blood he loses, he always ends up being just fine.

That night he fights well and he is paid extra. Logan stashes his cash in his wallet and in his truck. He supposes he should see about getting a bank account, one of these days, but in the mean time cash suits him just fine. He lies awake in his cheap motel and thinks about the strange man he'd agreed to fight the next morning. Where the hell did he come from? Did he really have ten thousand dollars to give Logan? Where would a scrawny kid like that get off thinking he could beat Logan, anyway?

It never even occurs to him that he might lose, and so the next morning he is utterly shocked to discover himself lying on his back and forcing the words "I give" out between gritted teeth. Kenichirō smiles down at him. "Wonderful. Let's go pack your things. We'll leave for Hokkaidō tomorrow morning."

"How did you do that?" Logan spits out, once he catches his breath.

"You have strength, Logan, but you lack training. Discipline. We will teach you these things."

"Where's Hokkaidō?"

"Japan. Northern Japan."

Logan blinks. Japan? But--it wasn't as if there was anything holding him here in Canada. And he'd given his word. That still meant something to him. So he lets Kenichirō follow him back to his grim little motel room. It only takes Logan ten minutes to collect his few possessions into a duffel bag.

"Uh... I don't, you know, have a passport or anything," Logan says.

Kenichirō laughs. "Do not worry, Logan. We have taken care of that for you."

"Who... who are you?"

"I am... many things. I am my father's son. He is an important business man."

"And you're... his bodyguard?"

"No, no. We do many things. You will see, in time."

"Whatever," Logan says. Kenichirō takes him to a nicer hotel. He tells Logan that he'll arrange to sell his truck for him. Logan feels a momentary sting at that--he had loved that truck--but he shakes it off. It was a piece of shit, after all. He has enough cash to get a new (slightly less shitty) truck if things don't pan out with this whole Japan thing.

The next day, Kenichirō presents him with a Canadian passport in the name of John Logan. Logan isn't sure if it's real or an astonishing fake, and he doesn't ask. A limo arrives to take them to the Calgary International Airport. There, Kenichirō is met by a smiling airport employee who whisks them past security without even passing through a metal detector. By this point, he's not at all surprised that they fly first class. Logan's never been in a plane before, at least not that he remembers. It terrifies him, though he tries not to show it. On the ground, Logan stands a pretty good chance of fighting anything that comes his way. But to fall from this height? Might it even kill him? But it isn't even death that he fears, it's the fall.

He closes his eyes and tries not to think of it. Their first flight is short, just Calgary to Vancouver. But next they fly Vancouver to Tokyo. It's twelve hours trapped in a flying metal cylinder. Logan pretends to sleep as much as possible. Sometimes he feels Kenichirō's eyes on him, but the other man busies himself with reading some files and never speaks to Logan.

When they land in Tokyo, there are customs forms to fill out, immigrations officers to deal with. Kenichirō takes care of it all and they're ushered to their connecting flight. "This is the last one," Kenichirō says. "We should be on the ground in Sapporo in a few hours."

"Great," Logan says, though this simple word does not completely convey just how delighted he will be to get off of the plane. Preemptively, he thinks he might just stay in Japan forever just to avoid making that return flight. They get off the plane and are whisked away in a very nice car, which drives them an hour out of the city. They pull up a long, winding driveway and arrive at a beautiful compound of buildings, low-lying and elegant, designed in perfect harmony with their environment. They're surrounded by mountains and trees. Logan takes a deep breath of fresh air and feels at peace.

Kenichirō smiles. "Yes. You will like it here, I can tell already."

Logan nods. "It's... beautiful," he says, aware that the word is not enough to describe what he sees.

But Kenichirō says, "Isn't it?" and leads him into the closest of the four buildings. It's a house, simply furnished, but elegant. He gives Logan a tour--kitchen, dining room, bathroom--and assigns him a simple, spare bedroom.

"Take your time getting settled in, Logan, and then come join us for tea," Kenichirō says.

Logan doesn't think about who the "us" might be until he walks back out to the dining room and is greeted by the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Hello, you must be Logan!" she says. Her English is clear and precise, wonderfully flavored with a slight accent. "I'm Kenichirō's sister, Mariko. I didn't know you were coming today or I would have paid more attention to my hair," she adds, blushing and running a hand through her hair, which hangs loosely around her shoulders.

"Huh?" Logan says. "Uh. It's nice to meet you, Mariko. Your hair's--beautiful," he blurts.

Her blush deepens and Kenichirō enters the room.

"Is tea ready, Mari?"

"I'll--I'll go heat some water, Kenichirō," she says, lowering her gaze and retreating to the kitchen.

"That's my half-sister, Mariko," he tells Logan. The word "half-sister" sounds as if it tastes unpleasant.

"She seems--nice," Logan says.

Kenichirō shrugs. "She works as a secretary in our father's office. She's... well, you probably won't see her here very much."

"Oh," Logan says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Kenichirō laughs. "Don't worry, Logan, there are plenty of other girls in Hokkaidō."

"Oh. Uh. Yeah," Logan says, trying to keep Mariko's sweet scent, a mixture of cherry blossom perfume, tea leaves, and her own sweet sweat, out of his nostrils. Kenichirō is right, surely there must be other girls, girls who aren't related to his employer.

Still, when she comes back to give him a delicate teacup and an equally delicate smile, he can't help but to hope she'll be around often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am quoting everyone's favorite source, [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silver_Samurai): "The Silver Samurai (Kenuichio Harada) is a fictional character in Marvel Comics' universe, occasionally a superhero and more often a supervillain. ... In Japan his name is Harada Kenichirō (原田剣一郎) since 'Kenuichio' is not an actual Japanese name."
> 
> I figured I might as well use his Japanese name for this story.


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
_Keep a clean nose  
Watch the plain clothes  
You don’t need a weatherman  
To know which way the wind blows_  
\-- Bob Dylan, Subterranean Homesick Blues

Remy grins at his reflection in the mirror, despite his pounding hangover. He looks good in his tux. He knows he almost always looks good, but today, on his wedding day, he wants to be certain everything is in place. He's going to have to see pictures of this day for a long time coming. He'd thrown up earlier that morning, though he's sure that it was only an aftereffect of the previous night's bachelor party.

His big brother, looking dashing in his own tuxedo, comes into his bedroom and says, "Eh, Remy, lookin' good. You about ready to head over to the church?"

"You tell me, Henri." His brother reaches over and straightens Remy's bowtie, though Remy was fairly certain it had been fine. Still, he says, "Merci, mon frère."

Henri nods. "So. You really gonna be a married man?"

Remy shrugs. "That's the plan."

"Even though--"

"Julien is all talk, Henri, and even if he ain't--well, I can take care of him. You know what Papa said--"

"I know what he said but... I don't know if I agree with him, Rem. Assassins? We don't need their kind."

Remy shakes his head. "Maybe we don't, but it sure would make life a lot easier if we wasn't always fightin' with them. This is the way it's gonna be, Henri, Assassins and Thieves together in one Guild."

"Yeah? And you and Bella just gonna share leadership? I don't think either one of you is too good at sharing."

"Well, we'll figure it out. If I back out now, only gonna cause more problems with the Assassins. You know that."

Henri sighs. "Oui, I know that. Don't mean I have to like the idea of my own brother marryin' some assassin."

"Not just any assassin," Remy says cheerfully. "A master assassin. And that ain't the only thing she's a master of."

Henri playfully shoves him. "Don't let 'em hear you with that kinda talk at the church, Rem. Wouldn't want Father Caldwell to think you two had been livin' in sin or nothin."

Remy smoothes his jacket down and says, "Don't know where he'd get no fool idea like that. Let's get ourselves to the church, then. Is Papa already there?"

Henri nods. "Oui, he is. He wanted to come get you but--I didn't know if I'd get another chance to talk to you before you went and made yourself a married man."

Remy laughs. "Henri, you a terrible best man. We got to go. If we're late to the wedding, Bella's gonna kill me."

"That's what I been trying to tell you, Rem," Henri says, but he's grinning. They turn to leave Remy's little house. He's really been living with Belladonna at her beautiful Garden District home, ever since that day almost a year ago when Victor Creed and Logan had showed up at the club he'd been working at. Truth was, Remy was scared to live alone after that. And Bella, for all her flaws and her hot temper, had understood. So he'd kept renting the place for propriety's sake--the older Guild members were willing to turn a blind eye to the fact that Remy never slept there, so long as he kept up the charade of not living with Bella until they were married. And Remy had held a few quick, guilty affairs here--only when Bella was out of town, or when she was already mad at him for something else. He tries to put those thoughts out of his mind when he looks around this bedroom one last time.

Henri drives him to St. Patrick's Church. He offers to drop him off, but Remy opts to make the one-block walk from the parking lot with his brother. He masks it as friendly bonhomie, but in truth he suddenly does not want to walk in that grand old church without his brother by his side. For all his lighthearted talk, Remy's aware that today's wedding is a big step. Not just in terms of his commitment to Bella, but also in terms of his commitment to the Thieves Guild. Remy had been groomed to take over as leader of the Thieves Guild ever since Jean-Luc had taken him off the streets at the age of ten. It had been a given that Remy would take on the responsibility, and Remy didn't mind that assumption. Remy was a master thief, and he could sweet talk just about anybody into doing just about anything. Those skills would serve him well with the Thieves Guild. And he knew that allying with the Assassins Guild would save a lot of lives. The two guilds had been at war for a long time, and there had been plenty of casualties on both sides (though admittedly more were inflicted by the assassins). It was just that, on a gut level, Remy wasn't quite sure he wanted to be allied with the Assassins. Being a thief was--well, it didn't hurt nobody, not really. Everybody they stole from had more than enough. People who the assassins killed usually had it coming, Remy knew, but still--to end someone's life, that was a serious thing.

Ultimately, though, Remy was a survivor, and if he had to ally himself with the Assassins Guild to survive, he knew he would do it.

Henri holds open the back door to the church, snapping Remy out of his thoughts. He stands up in front of the church, Henri by his side, and stares out at the crowded pews. The wedding of Remy LeBeau and Belladonna Boudreaux is a high-profile social event, at least among a certain class of people. He tries not to fidget while waiting for Bella to make her grand entrance. It's worth the wait; she's stunning. Bella's a beautiful woman and Remy's sure that she and her maid of honor Lisa have spent a long time making her look her best. Underneath her veil, her curly blonde hair is twined with red roses with just a few locks of hair framing her lovely face. Her white gown accents all of Bella's best assets and Remy tries not to gape. Bella gives him a coy smile, and by the look in her blue eyes he can tell that she knows exactly how lovely she looks.

Remy can't focus on the hymn, the opening prayer, the psalm, or the Old and New Testament readings. He stares out into the crowd, looking for Julien. Julien, who had threatened to kill Remy rather than let Remy marry Bella. Henri has to give him a discreet nudge when it's time to exchange the vows.

He says the magic words: "I, Remy, take you, Belladonna, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

Bella says her line, and the priest instructs Remy to kiss her. It's not an order he has trouble following, and he grins as he leans forward and plants a kiss on his lovely bride, one that lasts perhaps a few seconds too long, but nothing terribly improper. The rest of the wedding goes off as planned, as far as Remy can tell. He hasn't really heard a word Father Caldwell has said. He's somewhat surprised to find himself in a limo with Bella, heading toward the St. Louis Hotel for their reception.

 

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Bella leans over and kisses him, a much longer and more forceful kiss than the one they'd shared in the church. After they finally part, she smiles at him. "Bonjour, mon mari," she says, calling him her husband for the first time.

He smiles back. "Bonjour, ma femme," he replies. He's feeling pretty content. He hadn't seen Bella's crazy brother Julien at the wedding. His threat to Remy was just the ramblings of a lunatic, and Remy feels foolish for having even thought about it. He and Bella make out like kids in the back of the limo until it pulls up in front of the hotel and their driver discreetly clears his throat.

Remy grins and tips the man, and then they make their grand entrance into the ballroom. They take their seat at the head table and start sipping champagne before Henri and Lisa can make their toasts. Even as he sits holding a champagne flute in one hand and his wife's hand in his other, Remy can't help but be hyper-aware of his surroundings. The room is packed full of assassins. His head is killing him--he's still a bit hungover, and the bright lights in the ballroom are hurting his sensitive eyes. He knows it would be gauche to put on his sunglasses, but Remy's eyes are really much better suited to darkened rooms. He finishes his glass of champagne and pours himself a second.

Then Henri stands to make his toast to the happy couple. He says, "I ain't much for speeching, so I'll keep this short. Bella's a lovely lady, and Remy's been crazy 'bout her since we were kids. 'Course, he was crazy 'bout pretty much every girl in New Orleans at one point or another, but, it's different with Bella. She'll keep him in line. So, welcome to the family, Bella!" He raises his glass and says, "To Remy and Bella LeBeau! A la santé des mariés!"

Remy lets out a tiny breath. His brother's toast had been awkward, but far better than it could have been. All round the room, glasses clink and wedding guests sip their champagne. He touches his glass to Bella's. She's giving a forced smile, and Remy gives a shrug and apologetic grin in response.

Lisa, Bella's maid of honor, stands up and starts giving her toast. "I have known Belladonna ever since we were girls, and she has always dreamed of having a big, beautiful wedding just like this one--"

"That's bullshit," a voice interrupts. There's a collective gasp and everyone turns to find the source of the interruption. Remy feels a pit open up in his stomach. It's Julien. He sounds drunk, and he is, improbably, carrying a sword.

Julien continues, "Bella never dreamed about no wedding. This is all bullshit that our father is making her go through. Making her marry that no-good swamp rat freak of a thief."

Bella rises to her feet, her face steely. "Julien. Do not ruin my wedding. You are not welcome here." Remy hears rustling; people are reaching for hidden weapons. Remy himself has some playing cards tucked away in his pants pocket and his jacket pocket, and he casually palms a few now.

Good-naturedly, Remy says, "Eh, Julien, we're brothers now, non? Maybe we should talk this over in private. Maybe put down that sword, d'accord?"

Julien approaches Remy and Bella, waving the sword from side to side. Bella hisses, "Lord, Julien, you are drunk. I am going to call a cab, and you are going to leave."

Julien stumbles around the other side of the table, still holding his sword. "C'mon, Bella, give me a hug, I'm your brother."

Bella sighs and gives Julien a quick embrace. Enraged, Julien says, "So it's like that now, huh, Belladonna _LeBeau_?" He spits on his sister's face.

Remy pushes his way between Julien and Bella. "Julien! You apologize to my wife right now."

"Make me," Julien says. And then he swings the sword up toward Remy's throat. Instantly, Remy pushes Bella out of the way and rolls sideways to avoid the sword. Bella gives a surprised little shriek and he glances to make sure that she's all right. She is, though her dress is torn and she looks madder than a wet cat.

Remy rises to his feet and says, "Julien, we cannot do this here."

"What's the matter, freak? Everyone knows what you did to the Rendezvous Club. Took 'em a month to rebuild after you knocked down their wall last year."

It was true. After Remy had fought Logan, word had spread remarkably fast about Remy's powers. Before that night, a handful of people had known, of course--his family and a few close associates--but his abilities had largely been a secret. Few people were bold enough to say anything about it to Remy's face; not only was he one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the city, and not only was he a _freak_ who could make shit explode, but he was also the son of Jean-Luc LeBeau, and that alone would have kept most people in line.

But not Julien Boudreaux.

Remy sighs and says, "That is exactly why we cannot do this here."

Julien snorts and swings at Remy again. But Remy is fast, much faster than a normal human, especially one as drunk as Julien. His main concern is that Julien is going to accidentally hurt somebody else with that goddamn sword. So Remy retreats, forcing Julien to follow him out the back door.

"Coward!" Julien calls. Again, he rushes at Remy, waving the sword. Where did he even get that? It looks like one of the ones hanging up in the parlor of the Boudreaux family mansion.

Remy sighs. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a single card, which he charges and tosses at Julien. He really does not want to fight his wife's brother on his damn wedding day, but he's hoping he can knock the lunatic out and let him sleep off some of this madness. The card hits Julien square in the chest and he falls to the ground. Remy peers over him, examining his new brother-in-law. Julien sits up and brandishes the sword, and Remy blinks in surprise.

"Come on, Julien. Today's my wedding day! You cannot just let it alone?"

"I don't want a freak like you in my family, LeBeau!" Julien says. He rises to his feet and swings at Remy. Remy wishes he had his staff, but instead he tosses another card at Julien as he jumps out of the sword's path. This time, the card hits Julien in the side and sends him flying forward. Remy watches in horror as Julien lands on top of his own sword, cutting into himself with its long, sharp blade.

"Julien?" he hears Bella cry. "Remy, what did you do?"

"Bella, I swear, I just wanted him to get out of here," Remy says. He drops to his knees and presses his hands against Julien's belly. He has a long wound running across his abdomen and he's losing a lot of blood. "Bella, go call 911! Now, Bella!"

He hears her scurry back inside. Remy takes off his black tuxedo coat and presses it over Julien's wound. "Hey, mon frère, you gonna be all right, you hear? Bella's calling a doctor."

"I am not your brother, freak," Julien mumbles. His face has gone white.

Henri turns up at Remy's side and says, "Jesus, Remy, what the hell happened?"

"Well," Remy says. "You know what they say 'bout people who live by the sword."

Henri says, "This ain't good, Rem."

"You telling me!" Remy tries to study the sword without touching it. It looks old, antique. Remy hadn't thought it would be sharp enough to cause this kind of wound, but he sees now that Julien had sharpened it well, its bloody blade looking like a razor.

Bella and her father, Claude, come back out. Bella's sobbing, and Claude looks incredibly grave. Remy takes a step back and lets Claude tend to Julien's wound. "Desole," Remy says, helplessly. Claude ignores him and starts murmuring to his only son.

Jean-Luc comes up behind Remy and says, "Mon fils, you had better get out of here."

"Papa, it was an accident. Fool fell on his own sword."

"An ambulance is coming, Remy, and with that comes a lot of questions. You get out of here and get to a safehouse right now. Henri will take you."

Remy sighs. He crosses over to Bella and says, "Bella, ma cher, I... I am so sorry. You know... you know I didn't mean it, don't you?"

She looks up at him with teary eyes. He reaches out to wipe her cheek with a thumb, but pulls it back when he realizes his hands are covered with her brother's blood. "I know," she says, her voice hollow. "You gotta get out of here, Remy."

"Love you, Bella-bella," he says. "I... I..." He shakes his head and trails off.

Henri gently puts a hand on Remy's shoulder and says, "Come on, mon frère." In a daze, Remy follows his brother to the car. He grins when he realizes that Henri has taken him to the same safehouse where Remy had taken Logan. It looks pretty much the same as it had last year.

Remy settles himself at the kitchen table and says, "Some wedding day."

Henri joins him, shaking his head. "Julien's a lunatic."

Remy can only nod. After a long moment he asks, "Eh, Henri, you got any smokes?"

"In the car." They sit quietly and ponder this tragedy for another long moment before Henri says, "I'll go get them, then." He returns quickly and passes Remy a pack of Camels and a lighter.

"Merci," Remy says.

"What else is a best man for, eh?" Henri grabs an ashtray out of a cabinet and puts it on the table between them. They sit and quietly smoke their way through three-fourths of the pack.

Remy knows things are bad when two LeBeaus are sitting at a table without talking, but he can't quite bring himself to say anything. Some half-formed jokes float to his mind, but they don't make it to his mouth. When they're down to the last two cigarettes, they hear a key in the door. They both freeze until they hear their father's distinctive whistle.

"What happened, Papa?" Remy asks.

Jean-Luc just shakes his head. "Remy... Remy, you got to get out of the city."

"Julien..."

"Julien's dead, Remy."

"Papa, I swear to God, I didn't mean to kill him..."

"I know, Remy. I know. But you know how things is." Remy sees tears in his father's eyes and he knows he's in trouble. Jean-Luc continues, "Remy, I made a deal with Claude. We got a truce between the Thieves and the Assassins. But... but... "

"But what, Papa?" Remy asks, though he fears he already knows.

"But you got to leave New Orleans, Remy. And you got to stay gone. The minute you set foot back here... well, that's the end of the truce."

Remy sucks in a sharp breath. "Leave New Orleans? Where... where'm I gonna go?"

"We got some contacts. I... I'll see if I can get you a job out of town."

"And Bella?"

"Belladonna's got to stay here. Got to stay with the Assassins Guild."

Remy nods, once. "Where is she now?"

"With her family. They... they got funeral arrangements to attend to."

"Can I go see her? Before I leave?"

Jean-Luc sighs. "Remy, you got to go. I'm going to make a few phone calls for you, and then you got to get out of town. Your plane got fuel in it?"

"Oui." Remy had learned his lesson after his trip back to Three Mile Island, and he always kept his Cessna fueled and ready to go.

"Good," Jean-Luc says. Remy rises to his feet and his father gives him a quick embrace. "Remy, you a good thief, and you a good man. You'll be all right. I'll be right back, and then we gotta go, d'accord?"

After their father slides back out the front door, heading for the pay phone down the block, Henri shakes his head. "Knew we never should have gotten our family involved with the Assassins."

"Ah, Henri, it's the name of the game. We've been involved with the Assassins since before we was born." Remy glances toward the door, hoping to see Bella come in. He knows it's foolish, though. He and Bella both loved the game more than they loved each other. "Henri... do me a favor?"

"Course, Remy."

"Tell... tell Bella I'm sorry. Tell her I love her."

"Oui. Course."

"Tell her I didn't mean to kill Julien."

"Oh, Rem. Any fool could tell that. Course you didn't."

"But still, tell her?"

Henri nods. "Okay, Remy, I will."

The brothers regard each other for a moment and Remy says, "Well, now, guess you're going to take over the Guild. You got big plans?"

Henri cracks a grin. "Oh, oui, gonna expand. Gonna become the Guild of Thieves and Accountants."

"Smart, Henri. Gonna be real helpful for all the paperwork."

Before long, their father comes back. He hands Remy a scrap of paper. "Montreal. Canada. Here's your contact. She'll expect to hear from you by tomorrow."

Remy nods. "Merci, Papa."

Jean-Luc nods. "You're gonna be fine, Remy. Etienne's coming soon. He packed some of your things and he's gonna take you out to the airfield, all right?"

Remy nods. He can't help but feel a bit stung that his father would send him away with his cousin, rather than take him himself. Jean-Luc adds, "Desole, Remy, but Henri and I got to go smooth things over with the Guild a bit."

"Of course," Remy murmurs.

Jean-Luc embraces him again. "Look, Remy, just 'cause you got to stay out of New Orleans don't mean we ain't gonna see each other. We leave the city every once in awhile, you know."

"If the payoff's good enough," Remy says.

"Well," Henri says, "Then you'd better find some prime jobs out there, d'accord?"

Remy grins. "I think I can arrange that, mon frère."

Henri grins back, and then they hear a car horn honk three times.

"That'll be Etienne, then," Jean-Luc says. They turn the lights off and leave the kitchen. Just inside the front door, Jean-Luc says, "Wait one minute, Remy." He goes outside and comes back with a black suitcase. "You'd better change," he says.

Remy looks down at his blood-stained tux and agrees. He ducks into the bathroom and comes back in clean, dark jeans and a navy button-down shirt. He looks at the wedding band on his left hand and slides it into his pocket. He hugs his father and brother one last time, and gets into the car with Etienne. He leaves his tux with Henri--his brother knows how to destroy evidence.

Remy feels numb when they pull up at the airfield. He bids his cousin adieu, carefully plots his course, and takes off. He's too stunned to even enjoy the flight. He can't stop thinking that this will be the last time he takes off from New Orleans, a thought that sickens him. His flight path takes him over Pennsylvania, not too far from the Island, and he's reminded that things could be worse. He might be exiled from his home, but at least he's not locked in one of Stryker's cages. He stops for the night in western New York and remembers the man he'd met leaving the Island. Charles Xavier. He briefly considers trying to track him down, but he quickly dismisses the notion. His father had made him a contact, and he was honor-bound to meet her. He's already caused enough problems for his père without running off to some school for freaks.

The next day he passes through Canadian customs with his hand-crafted fake ID and fake plane registration. He even files a flight plan. Then he lands at a small private hangar outside Quebec and takes a taxi into the city. He meets his contact at a bar called L'Oncle Antoine. He identifies his contact, Inès, by the red rose in her hair. Remy appreciates a woman with a flair for drama. She's beautiful, in addition to being a master thief. But Remy's a professional and he keeps their conversation strictly business-oriented, at least that first night. He calls home to tell his father he's met his contact. Jean-Luc hesitates a fraction of a second before telling him that Belladonna's already had their marriage annulled. Remy is, once again, a single man.

Inès takes him to bed with her after their third night of surveillance. The sex is quite good, but more than anything, Remy's happy to have Inès spend the night curled against his chest. He sleeps much more soundly with the presence of human contact.

He and Inès make a good team. She has a lot of contacts, and she knows more than Remy does about increasingly high-tech security devices. But Remy's better at basic cons, and he's far better in a fight. He keeps his mutant power a secret, careful to never use it in front of Inès. He doesn't want her to think of him as a freak. She watches him closely, sometimes, and he wonders what rumors she's heard about him. But she never says a word, and they make their way around the world together. Generally, they steal jewels. Remy has no problem with this; they're small and easy to steal, as long as you're an expert safecracker. And Remy has always been attracted to beautiful objects. He loves to hold the gems they steal up to the light, letting them sparkle. Inès teases him about it, calls him her magpie. But she likes the jewels, too. Occasionally she keeps something for herself, and Remy loves seeing jewels around her throat even more than he loves seeing them in his own hands.

Somehow, two years pass like this. He and Inès have a sterling reputation in the underworld. It becomes known that there is nothing they cannot get, and they start getting bigger and stranger commissions. One fine morning in the apartment they share in Paris, Inès says, "Wake up, love, we're going to Kenya."

Remy gives a lazy stretch. "Kenya? What's there?"

"A rock."

"A rock?"

"A rock."

He raises his eyebrows. "Is that really the best job we got going?"

"Our client is offering two mil."

"Two million dollars? For a rock?"

"Apparently it's a special moon rock or something. A meteorite. It's in a museum."

"Piece of cake."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle."

Remy sits up and kisses Inès. "So, ma cher, we got to leave right this minute, or...?"

"We should really..." she starts, as Remy leans in and nibbles her earlobe. "... go, but, oh, Lord, I guess... yes... guess we have... a little time..."

Remy smiles with satisfaction when Inès digs her nails into his back and growls out his name. He loves making women happy.

Things are good with Inès. She's sexy as hell and she keeps Remy on his toes. After they fuck, they spend a few moments lying together. Inès recovers first and slips into the shower. Remy follows closely behind her, loving the feel of her soapy body under his long fingers. Then they pack what they need into their carry-on suitcases and leave the apartment, taking a cab to Charles de Gaulle Airport.

Remy stares out the window and watches Paris go by. He and Inès live there, as much as you could say they live anywhere. It's really a waste of rent to keep up an apartment they only visit a few times a month, but they can afford it. And it is nice to have a place to come back to, a place that isn't a hotel. They both love Paris. If Remy can't be in New Orleans, Paris is a fine second choice. As for Inès, Remy thinks she's originally from France, given her accented English and her smooth French, nothing like his bastardized Cajun French. But Inès never tells him anything about where she came from, and Remy never asks. It's only fair, since she extends him the same courtesy. To this day, Remy still doesn't know what his father told her about him to make her take him on as a partner. He's fine with that. Still, though, sometimes he reflects on how strange it is that he knows exactly how fast Inès can run and how long it takes her to crack a standard combination lock, but he doesn't know her parents' names.

At the KLM desk, Inès purchases two tickets for the next flight to Nairobi. The woman at the desk wishes them a "Bon voyage!" and sends them off to security.  
They breeze through security; neither of them travels with anything that could be easily identified as a weapon. Their flight into Jomo Kenyatta International Airport takes just under five hours, and they're checked into a hotel well before dinner time. They pass an extremely pleasant evening walking the streets of Nairobi, soaking in the sounds and colors of the city. Remy's shocked and amused to catch someone trying to pick his pocket. He whirls around and grabs the thief, who turns out to be a teenage African girl. She tilts her chin up at him defiantly.

"You know who you're stealing from?" he asks.

She makes no reply. But she keeps holding his gaze, and her eyes go white. The next thing Remy knows, a whirlwind is blowing through the streets, raising a huge cloud of dust. The girl twists expertly out of his grasp and disappears into the dust. Remy blinks in astonishment.

"How did she do that?" Inès asks, after the dust settles. The would-be thief is long gone. "Did she get anything?"

Remy checks his pockets. "She didn't get nothing. As to how she did it, well, I don't know. We could use her on our side, non?" He knows, though, that that girl must have been a mutant, like himself. He wonders what else she can do.

Inès shakes her head. "I know you always say you don't get hot, but I still can't believe you're wearing that leather coat here of all places."

"Cool as a cucumber, ma chere." People thought that Remy's attachment to his leather duster was an affectation, and maybe it was. But along with the heightened metabolism that forced Remy to eat huge meals, something about Remy's power made him feel cold all the time. (Inès suggests that he just needs to gain a little body fat. She keeps trying to feed him buttery pastries and rich creamy sauces, to no avail.) He'd worn the duster throughout New Orleans's brutal summers, and he'll continue to wear it in Nairobi.

It's admittedly conspicuous, and sometimes he swaps it out for the leather jacket Logan had left in his plane three years ago. Today, though, he's wearing his own duster. He needs its many pockets, and he likes the way it swirls around his ankles when he walks. Remy appreciates tactile pleasures of all kinds.

Remy and Inès keep walking for a bit longer, but they're both pretty keyed up from that bizarre attempted mugging. They stop for dinner at Sale e Pepe, an Italian restaurant with food that's good by African standards but terrible by Italian standards. Inès makes a face at her veal escalope, but Remy eats all of his fettucine alfredo without complaint, along with half of Inès's plate. Then they go back to their hotel and burn off some of their pre-job jitters with some energetic sex. That night, though, Remy dreams of Stryker and a black girl with white eyes. He wakes up abruptly and takes deep breaths to calm himself. Inès, a light sleeper, murmurs, "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?"

"Nothin', chere. Just a dream."

"Mmph." She strokes his shoulder-length hair and says, "You're all right, mon coeur."

"Of course," he says. "Like I said. Just a dream."

She nestles against him and quickly falls back to sleep, but Remy lays awake much longer. He has a bad feeling about this job. He's not sure why--the very nature of their work means that he knows little about their client, as usual. He's stolen from museums before. He doesn't especially like it, but he knows that the museum has insurance. And, anyway, they have plenty of other rocks. He supposes the thing that's bothering him is that the money sounds too good for just one rock. There must be a catch. But there's no sense in worrying about it until tomorrow--or later that morning, really--when they pay a daytime visit to the museum, to get a feel for what they're after. He manages to coax himself back into a fitful sleep, comforted by Inès's warm presence.

In the morning, they dress like tourists as best they can, though neither of them would ever do something so vulgar as wear shorts in public, and they pay a visit to the Nairobi National Museum. It's on Museum Hill, a beautiful, green space overlooking the city. There are statues and other museums, but the National Museum is large and stately, with a vaguely Greek feel to it. It houses exhibits on art, culture, African history, and natural history.

The museum has a lot of exhibits, but all appear slightly faded. Remy has a definite sense that this museum has passed its prime. Their moon rock is housed in the somewhat indifferently-organized natural history wing, and they stroll about, examining taxidermied animals and dioramas. They find their target at the end of a fossil exhibit.

"Look, honey. A rock from outer space," Remy says, studying it closely. Really, he's studying the glass case, trying to figure out what kind of alarm it might have attached to it.

"Imagine that," Inès murmurs. They exchange confused glances. As far as either of them can tell, there is no security at all on this glass case. It's just a glass box. There is no way that this job is worth two million.

"Well," Remy says. "Let's see what else this fine museum has to show us." They stroll around, taking careful note of the number of guards (three), the number of cameras (twelve) and the number of doors (five). Outside, they walk around the museum's lovely gardens and look for clues about the museum's alarm system. It's pretty old, a 1970s model, and Remy knows that Inès will be able to make short work of it. Hell, Remy could disarm it, and electronics are not his forte.

"What an interesting museum," Inès says.

"Quite," Remy replies. Not until they're back in their hotel room does he say, "So, chere, what you reckon? A trap?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know about that, love. It doesn't even seem like a trap."

"Who's our client?"

"John Smith, of course," Inès says with an eyeroll.

"Of course." Remy shrugs. "Well, looks easy enough. Guess all we can do is get in there tonight and get out as fast as we can."

"You have your staff?"

"Course." Remy has a new collapsible metal staff. It's much more portable than the old diamond-tipped one that Logan had broken, and so far he hasn't met anybody with the claws to cut through it.

They spend the afternoon lounging by their hotel pool. Inès slathers herself with sunscreen and reads a magazine under an umbrella. She tries her best to stay pale year-round, and it looks good against her dark brown hair and her deep blue eyes. Remy swims laps, trying to burn off the anxiety he just can't seem to shake.

That evening, Inès asks the concierge for a restaurant recommendation. He suggest Sale e Pepe, the Italian place they'd eaten at the night before. Inès grimaces and they end up at a steakhouse. Remy's content with his meal, but Inès says, "I cannot wait until we are back in Paris."

"You and me both," Remy agrees, though not because of the food.

That night, they dress for work and slip out of their hotel room at 9:30. Most night watchmen work from 10pm to 6am, and Remy and Inès like to arrive either right as the guards are changing shifts, or around 4, when the guards are getting tired and bored, but before the sun rises. Tonight they've both agreed to go earlier--they both want to get this job out of the way as quickly as possible.

They take their nondescript rental car out of the hotel garage and make their way back to Museum Hill. Everything goes according to plan. Inès slips around and disables the alarm system. Remy holds his staff, ready to incapacitate any guards who notice them. But he and Inès are both so quiet and so good at avoiding cameras that he doesn't even have to. Remy's excellent night vision lets him lead the way through the dimly-lit museum. The lenses of the security cameras might as well be glowing spotlights as far as Remy's concerned, and they easily make their way back to the meteorite. Inès pulls a tool out of Remy's black backpack and cuts through the glass case. She picks up the meteorite--it's about the size of a cantaloupe--and wraps it in the hotel towel that's in Remy's backpack. Then she puts everything back in the bag and they slip out the back entrance.

They both let out a quiet sigh of relief as they make their way through the museum gardens in the moonlight. Suddenly, it grows much darker. The moon is covered with dark clouds, and Remy and Inès are wrapped in fog. They exchange glances and begin to walk more briskly back to their car. They almost walk right into a black girl with long white hair. Remy does a double-take. It's the girl who had tried to mug him. She had covered her hair with a scarf the previous day, and Remy could see why. That hair was definitely a distinguishing feature, and Remy wondered why she didn't dye it.

The girl smiles at them, meeting Remy's eyes with a blank white stare. "Give me the stone, foreigners."

"Now, why in the hell would we do a thing like that?" Remy asks, snapping open his staff.

"Because if you don't, I will strike you both dead," she says. She stretches her arms over her head and a bolt of lightning hits a few feet from them.

"Jesus," Remy says.

"The stone, Monsieur LeBeau." It's raining hard, now, and another bolt of lightning comes.

"What you want it for, anyway? Just a space rock."

"I want nothing to do with it. But my employer wants it very badly."

"How much is he paying you?" Remy demands.

"Enough."

"We'll give you a mil if you let us take it," Remy says. It's a generous cut, but he really does not want to be struck by lightning.

The girl pauses. Remy can tell that it's more than what her employer, whoever that may be, is offering. "And why should I trust you?"

Remy extends a hand. "I give you my word." He gives her his most charming grin. She hesitates, then she twirls around, snatches his backpack off his back, and sprints into the thick fog.

"Merde!" he swears, setting out after her. It's nearly impossible to see, but he doubts the girl had been counting on Remy's enhanced vision. She's fast, but Remy's legs are much longer. He catches up to her and pushes her to the ground.

"Now, cherie, that wasn't very nice of you," he says, pinning her in place.

To Remy's discomfort, she bursts into tears. "Please," she says.

"Hey, cherie, I ain't gonna hurt you. I just want my backpack, d'accord?"

She shakes her head and the rain falls harder than ever. "You don't understand. Please, please, I need that stone."

"What do you need it for?"

"My boss, he needs it, and he... he... I can't make him mad, please."

Remy hates seeing ladies cry, and looking at this girl makes him realize she's younger than he first thought. She's tall, but scrawny and with a pretty, childlike face. She's maybe fourteen?

"Who's your boss, chere? Why don't you come work with us?"

She laughs and cries. "I'm serious," Remy says. "You a pretty good thief. We could use the help. We're going back to Paris." Already he wonders what Inès will say if he comes back with a teenage girl, but he can't help it. Jean-Luc had taken him off the streets in a similar fashion, and it just didn't feel right to leave this girl here. Hell, maybe he could send her to New Orleans. He's sure Jean-Luc would do right by her. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Ororo," she says. "But people call me Storm."

"Ororo. That's a real pretty name. I'm Remy."

"I know. The Shadow King told me all about you, Gambit."

He tenses. "I prefer Remy. Who's the Shadow King?"

"My boss."

"That don't sound too good, chere."

She sighs. "I know," she says. The fog dissipates and rain decreases to a mere drizzle, and Inès approaches them. They hadn't made it very far from the museum, but Inès had been unable to see through the fog.

"What are you doing, Remy?" Inès asks. "Get the stone and let's get out of here."

"Eh, chere, I think... I think things may be a bit more complicated than that." He cautiously releases Ororo, who sits up and glares at them. "Miss Stormy here was just telling me that somebody named the Shadow King wants this moon rock. You know anything about him?"

"Shadow King? What a ludicrous name. No, I have never heard of him," Inès says.

Ororo's eyes widen. "You two had better get out of here. He is coming. I can feel him coming."

"Let him come," Remy says. He stands ready, twirling his bo idly.

"You do not understand. You cannot hope to defeat the Shadow King. You must, must leave."

Suddenly, Inès screams and clutches her head. "Chere? What's wrong?" Remy asks.

"I warned you," Ororo moans. She holds up the backpack. "Sir, I have the adamantium stone."

Remy hears a faint buzzing sound in his head, and he shakes it, trying to dislodge the sound. _Interesting,_ he hears a deep male voice say inside his head. He's reminded of when Charles Xavier had entered his mind on the Island, but this feels different. More... threatening. He drops to his knees next to Inès and takes her hand. She seems to have fainted.

Another voice in his head, slightly higher-pitched and warmer, says, _Ororo. Remy. Inès. You are not safe. You must come find me. I will help you. I am in Uhuru Park._ Remy recognizes this voice.

Ororo is looking at Remy wide-eyed. "Remy? You are all right?"

"Hearin' voices, cherie. Are you all right?"

"Yes, but..." she trails off. "Maybe you _can_ help."

"We should go find Xavier," Remy says. "I think he can help better than me."

Ororo takes a deep breath and bites her bottom lip. Inès stirs. "What happened?" she asks, blearily.

"The Shadow King," Ororo says. "He attacked. He can... he can do things to your head. It didn't hurt Remy, though."

"I got a real thick skull," Remy says. "Let's go. Ororo, you know where Uhuru Park is?"

In French, Inès hisses, _"What are you doing, Remy? We are taking this girl thief with us?"_ "

He replies, _"We aren't going to leave her here to fight this Shadow King, all right? Look at her. She is a_ child _. Come on, Inès."_

Inès glowers, but says nothing more. "Come on. Let's get to the car." Inès and Ororo follow him silently. They drive back down the hill, into the city center. Ororo tersely guides Remy to Uhuru Park. He parks on the street and they cautiously stride out into the park.

 _This way_ , a voice in Remy's head says. He follows it and finds a bald man in a wheelchair, parked underneath a lamppost. Next to him stands a gangly red-headed girl and a boy wearing red sunglasses, even though it's the middle of the night. Remy recognizes the kid from the Island, though the boy had been blindfolded then.

Aloud, Xavier says, "Ah, Remy. So nice to see you again. This is Scott and Jean."

"Hello," Remy says, nodding at them and ignoring the strangeness of this.

"You know this guy?" Inès asks.

"We've met," Remy says. "This is Charles Xavier. And this is my partner, Inès. And Ororo."

"Yes, of course," Charles says. "I'm very happy to meet you both, though I wish the circumstances were better."

"What _are_ the circumstances?" Inès asks. "What the hell is happening?"

"You see, Inès, I am a telepath. I can read minds. And so can Amahl Farouk. The so-called Shadow King. Farouk, however, uses his ability to control people. To... well. He uses his power for very unpleasant things. I have come to stop him."

"You are really going to stop him?" Ororo asks, her eyes shining under the moonlight. The sky is clear. "You can do that?"

"Yes, Ororo, I believe I can."

She gives a tentative smile in reply.

"Well, where is this guy?" Inès demands.

"He is at his home," Xavier says calmly.

"Is he coming?" Inès asks.

"He is already here," Xavier says, tapping his temple.

Jean says, softly, "Farouk and the Professor are fighting on the astral plane. We should leave him alone."

"The astral plane? Are you fucking serious?" Inès asks.

"Shh, chere," Remy says.

The five of them stand in a loose circle around Charles Xavier. Xavier's eyes are closed now, and his face is serene. After ten quiet minutes, Xavier lets out a little gasp and rocks slightly in his wheelchair. Scott, standing behind him, tightens his hold on the chair. Ororo shivers, and Remy puts a friendly arm around her, earning him a glare from Inès. Ororo stiffens, then leans a little closer to Remy. They wait quietly with Xavier. Occasionally he makes little sounds. Jean holds Xavier's hand and offers sporadic updates about the astral battle.

Remy wonders why no policemen have come by to investigate this strange gathering in the park. But then he remembers how Xavier had kept authorities from noticing Remy and his plane on the Island, and supposes a similar trick is in play.

An hour passes, maybe more. Every so often, Inès huffs and says something like, "This is absurd!" But she makes no real attempt to leave.

More hours pass, and the group is an awful mixture of frightened and bored. Jean says, "Remy, are you a telepath too?"

"Non, cherie. Where'd you get an idea like that?"

"It's just--I can't read your thoughts."

Remy shrugs. "Well, what are you snoopin' in my head for anyway?"

"Can you read _my_ thoughts?" Inès asks.

Jean shrugs. "It's--it's not on purpose. It just happens."

"The Professor is teaching her how to control it," Scott says.

"You people are all freaks!" Inès says.

"Eh, chere, play nice," Remy says.

"We're not freaks! We're mutants," Scott says.

"Whatever," Inès says.

Remy sighs. "Why don't we just everybody calm down? Don't want to scare Xavier while he's fighting on the astral plane or nothing."

"Remy's right," Jean says.

"Fine," Scott says.

Inès says nothing, but Remy knows she's pissed. Well, he's a little pissed too. They stand quietly in the park for hours. Finally, just as the sun starts to rise, Charles Xavier opens his eyes.

"It is finished," he says quietly.

"You did it!" Jean says happily.

"Is he--is he really dead?" Ororo asks. "Really and truly?"

"Really and truly," Xavier says. "But--now I must rest." He closes his eyes again.

"Great," Inès says. "Let's get out of here."

For some reason, Remy hesitates. He looks down at Ororo. "Miss Stormy? You gonna be all right?"

"I will be fine," she says, lifting her chin. "I can get by on my own."

"But why don't you come back with us?" Jean asks. "We have a school for mutants. You can live with us."

"Where is your school?" Ororo asks.

"New York," Jean replies.

"America?"

"Yeah. It's in the Professor's house and it's really big and nice only right now I'm the only girl so it would be so nice if you came."

Ororo hesitates. "I am not sure."

"You don't have to decide right now, Ororo," Scott says. "But you can come back to our hotel with us."

"You kids gonna be all right?" Remy asks.

"We're not kids," Scott snaps.

"We'll be fine, thank you," Jean says. She hesitates. "You could come with us, too, Remy."

"Nah, I'm a little old for school, don't you think?" he says, grinning at her.

"You could teach."

"Oh, no. I ain't no teacher of nothing."

"Not with grammar like that," Scott mutters.

Inès scoffs, "Of course Remy doesn't want to go to your freak school!"

"Inès!" Remy says.

"Look, lady, I don't know how to break this to you, but your boyfriend's a freak, too," Scott says.

"Scott!" Jean hisses.

"What? Don't be ridiculous," Inès says.

Remy sighs. "Actually, chere... he's right." Suddenly, he doesn't know why he'd bothered to keep it a secret. Why had he spent two years of his life with this woman who was disgusted by what he was?

"What?" Inès repeats.

"I'm a mutant," Remy says. He reaches into his pocket and charges a card, which he carefully tosses away from the little crowd of people. Ororo smiles, and Jean says, "Cool!"

"I can't believe... I can't believe you kept a secret like that, Remy! I..." Inès trails off, shaking her head. Then with the speed that had made her a master thief in her own right, she grabs Remy's backpack off his back and runs out of the park into the city. Remy knows it's over between them, and he realizes that he's okay with that. Relieved, even.

Ororo chases after her, but Remy calls, "Eh, let her go, cherie."

Ororo comes back and looks up at him sadly. "What are you going to do, Remy?"

"Well. I suppose I'll go back with you all, least until Xavier here wakes up."

"We can take care of ourselves," Scott says stiffly.

"Never said you couldn't. Still, be nice to make sure he's all right. Put my mind at ease, like. Where are you staying?"

"The Intercontinental," Jean says.

Unbelievable. "Well, that makes things easier, then," Remy says cheerfully.

"That's where you're staying?" Scott asks. He does not sound pleased.

Ororo raises her eyebrows but says nothing. It's one of the city's finest hotels, and Remy remembers how much he had resented rich tourists when he was a street kid. "Oui, that's where I'm staying. Might... might have to get my own room now, though," he says with a rueful chuckle. "But I will meet you there, d'accord? Do you need assistance with him?" he asks, nodding at the Professor.

"No, we'll be fine, thanks," Jean says.

Remy says, "All right. Ororo, would you like to ride there with me?" She nods. "Then we will meet the rest of you in the lobby," Remy says. "Adieu."

Ororo trails him back to his car. "Have you... have you always known you were... different?"

"Well, now. I've always had better vision than most, but I didn't realize how much better it was until I was older. But the thing that I do, with charging stuff, no, that didn't start until I was about fifteen."

"And you were... a thief?"

"Still am, cherie."

Ororo nods. "I am too. But... maybe I do not have to be one."

Remy turns to look at her. He grins. "No, Miss Stormy, I don't think you have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Do you think I should go with Xavier?"

Remy considers. "Hey, cherie, it's your life. You got to do what you think is best. But I do think Xavier's a good guy. He's helped me out before. I think you can trust him. Can probably trust him better than you can trust me."

Ororo smiles and shakes her head. "You are a good man, too, Remy. Better than that woman you were with."

"Ah, well." Remy pulls into the hotel garage.

"I have never been to New York," Ororo says thoughtfully. "What is it like there?"

"Cold," Remy says. "Freezing."

"All the time?"

"No," Remy concedes. "Not all the time. They got a summer."

"Is there snow?"

"In the winter."

"I have always wanted to see snow," Ororo says decisively. Remy grins, happy that Ororo will be off the streets. It's not a good life, he knows, and especially not for a pretty girl.

In the lobby, Remy flops down on one of the elegant white couches. Ororo sits primly on a chair next to him. A few minutes later, Jean appears. "Why don't you come up to our room?" she asks. "We can wait together." So they follow her up to the living room of an enormous suite.

Remy watches Ororo casing the room. He can tell she's trying to conceal a mixture of jealousy and disdain. He can relate.

"Where's Xavier?" Remy asks.

"In his bedroom," Scott says.

"How many rooms does this hotel room have?" Ororo asks.

"Three," Scott says. "Well, four, if you count the bathroom."

"The Professor inherited a lot of money from his family," Jean says off-handedly. "But he uses it to run his school."

Ororo nods. Jean says, "Scott doesn't have any parents either, Ororo."

Ororo stiffens. "I have parents," she says. "It is only that they are dead."

Scott laughs, and then blushes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. My parents are dead too."

"How did they die?" Ororo asks.

"Plane crash. Yours?"

"Earthquake."

"Well, ain't this a cheery conversation?" Remy asks.

Ororo shrugs. "Death is natural."

"My dad says there's only two things you can count on, death and taxes," Jean says.

"My père used to say that too," Remy says with a smile.

"Is your father dead, too?" Jean asks.

"No, he is still alive. We just haven't spoken in... in awhile."

"Is it because you're a mutant?" Jean says.

"No, no, not that. Just, well, it's complicated."

"Is it because you're a thief?" Scott asks, bluntly.

Remy roars with laughter at that. "Wouldn't that be something! Who do you think taught me to be a thief, if not my père, eh?"

"Figures," Scott mutters.

"There are worse things than stealing," Ororo says, her chin held high.

"Let's see if there's anything good on TV," Jean says. She raises her hand and calls the remote to her hand.

"Nice trick, cherie," Remy says.

"Thanks, I've been practicing!" Jean turns on the television and flicks through the channels aimlessly. She settles it on a French cartoon, which Ororo and Remy find distracting. They sit and quietly watch it for a few moments before Scott says, "Could you find something in English, please?"

Jean flips some more and ends up on an old sci-fi movie. Giant grasshoppers are attacking a city. Remy sprawls out on a sofa, putting his feet up on a coffee table. Scott and Ororo both look slightly uncomfortable and they sit carefully on the posh furniture. Jean sits next to Remy and puts her feet on the coffee table, too.

"This makes no sense," Scott says.

"At least it's in English," Jean replies.

They sit and watch the whole movie. Remy is desperately hungry, and he hopes Xavier wakes up soon. He wants to get out of here, wants to get his suitcase and get out of this city. But somehow he feels protective of Ororo, and he wants to talk to Xavier and make absolutely sure that she's in good hands before he leaves. So he sits and ignores his hunger, which he has done before. He watches the French soap opera that improbably follows the giant grasshopper movie. Halfway through it, Jean perks up and says, "The Professor's awake!"

She and Scott traipse off to his bedroom. Remy and Ororo exchange quick glances and decide to stay put. Moments later, Jean and Scott return. Scott's pushing Xavier in his wheelchair.

Xavier gives them a beatific smile. "Ororo! Remy! I'm so happy you've decided to stay."

"Well--" Remy says.

"Remy isn't staying," Scott says.

Xavier's smile fades. "Scott, all mutants are welcome at my school. All of them."

"Ah, I appreciate the invitation, Xavier, I really do. But I just--I just--I got things I need to take care of, you know?"

Xavier sighs. "Well, Remy, you are certainly free to make your own decisions. But are you sure you wouldn't like to come see the school? Many find it... a relief, to live among other mutants."

For a brief moment, Remy considers. It would be nice, he supposes, not to have to worry about people thinking he's a freak. But... no. He's already seen what Scott Summers thinks of him, and he suspects most of the other students at Xavier's school would be similarly judgmental. Remy doesn't need any more of that. He shakes his head. "Thanks, but no thanks, Professor."

"Very well, Remy. But know that you will always be welcome. Always."

"Merci."

"How about a spot of breakfast before you go? Or, well, I suppose it is lunch time, isn't it?"

"All right," Remy agrees. They order a huge quantity of room service. Ororo eats her food very quickly. Remy remembers his own childhood, before Jean-Luc found him--he'd immediately gulp down whatever morsels he could find, lest some other street kid take it from him. He wishes he had Xavier's power, wishes he could silently tell Ororo that she can take her time. Instead, he slowly savors his hamburger and watches Jean and Scott flirt. After lunch, he asks Xavier for a word in private. Xavier nods and beckons him back to his bedroom.

Inside, Remy says, "Look, it's about Ororo. I just want--she has been living on the street, you know, and I want to make sure--"

"We will take good care of Ororo, I assure you," Xavier says with a gentle smile.

"It's just--it's gonna be real different for her, you know."

"I have had children at my school from all walks of life, Remy."

Remy hesitates and says, "All right. I just--all right, then."

Xavier reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hands Remy a business card. "Here, Remy. You can call or write to Ororo at any time and check in on her. Or come for a visit. I can promise you that we will take good care of Ororo, but I think she would benefit from keeping in contact with you. Because you are correct. You will understand what she's going through better than I do."

Remy studies the card and slips into a coat pocket. He blurts, "It's just, tell her she don't have to eat so fast. Nobody's gonna take her food away."

Xavier's face freezes. He says, "Yes, Remy, I will tell her that."

Remy smiles and offers a hand. "Thank you, Xavier."

"Of course. Of course. Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Yeah. That was all. I'm gonna... I'm gonna go, now."

Xavier wheels himself behind Remy back into the living room. Remy bends down and hugs Ororo. "Hey, Miss Stormy, I'm gonna get gone. You have fun with these guys in New York, okay?"

Ororo looks at him with eyes that are wise beyond her years. "Okay," she says. "Goodbye, Remy."

"Seeya, cherie." He extends a hand to Scott and Jean in turn. "Scott, Jean, it was nice to meet you. Have a pleasant trip back to New York."

"Bye, Remy!" Jean chirps. "You should come visit us some time!"

"Perhaps," Remy allows. He meets Ororo's eyes and offers her a lopsided grin. "I just might pass through that way."

Scott offers a nod. "Goodbye, Remy," he says formally.

Remy returns the nod and heads toward the doorway. Then, loving the drama, he turns back and pulls the meteorite out of one of his coat pockets. "By the way, Xavier, you got any idea what this is?"

"I thought that was in your backpack!" Ororo blurts.

"How big are your coat pockets?" Jean asks.

"Big enough," Remy says with a grin.

"I confess I am happy to see that stone in good hands," Xavier says.

"What _is_ it?" Remy asks. "Our contact told us it was a meteorite. But those things is a dime a dozen."

"It's adamantium," Ororo says.

"What's that?" Jean asks.

"An indestructible metal ore," Xavier says. "It's extremely rare. In the wrong hands, this could be... could be quite dangerous."

"Huh," Remy says. "Well, you might as well keep it, then."

"Are you certain?" Xavier asks. "I had rather thought... you had committed to give it to someone else."

Remy shrugs. "That money's easy come, easy go. And I ain't at all sure that my client is the right person to give something so dangerous to." He hands the rock to Ororo, winks at her, and waltzes out the door. He thinks back to Stryker's lab and Logan's metal claws and is glad the rock is in trustworthy hands.

Out in the hallway, he feels much less certain about the future. He's not at all sure how vengeful Inès will be. He goes back to their room and knocks. Receiving no reply, he tries his key. There's no sign of Inès or her things, but Remy's suitcase is still there. Well, at least she hadn't burned it or thrown it out the window. She always was extremely professional. Remy picks up the room phone and makes a few calls. He wants to get a job lined up before word of his failure in Nairobi spreads. Fifteen minutes later, he has a destination. He takes his suitcase out the door and heads for the airport. He returns the rental car and checks his pockets. He still has enough cash to get a one-way ticket to Tokyo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were trying to figure out who in the Marvelverse she's supposed to be, Inès is an original character, the only OC of note in this story.


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
_Well, I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line  
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine  
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born  
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"_  
\-- Bob Dylan, Shelter From the Storm

Just as he does every day, Logan rises with the sun and spends a quiet hour in zazen meditation. He's become more flexible with three years of training, and finds it easy to settle into the cross-legged posture of meditation. He'd initially hoped that meditation would help him unlock some of his lost memories. So far, though, nothing has surfaced during his waking meditation. At night, sometimes he sees flashes. Terrible flashes, full of pain and fear. He isn't sure if they are his memories or his fears, and he isn't sure he wants to know.

After meditation, he dresses and pads downstairs for breakfast: rice, miso soup, and mackerel. When he'd first arrived in Japan, he'd found this to be a strange breakfast, but he enjoys it. It's high protein, and Logan's never had much of a sweet tooth. He doesn't miss cereal or doughnuts. Kenichirō is already at the table, contemplatively sipping tea. He nods at Logan in greeting.

Logan likes Kenichirō well enough. He's usually a quiet man, which suits Logan fine. It has become clear to Logan that the reason he was brought to Hokkaidō was to serve as a sparring partner. He was one of the few people who could even begin to keep up with Kenichirō, an uncannily good fighter.

Sometimes Kenichirō disappears for weeks at a time. Sometimes he comes back in a good mood; sometimes he doesn't. Logan never asks for any explanation, and he never receives one, not to his face. But he's never fully revealed to Kenichirō how good his hearing is, and sometimes Logan hears things he wasn't meant to hear. He thinks Kenichirō is acting as some kind of personal bodyguard for his father. Maybe not bodyguard. Maybe assassin. Logan doesn't know too much about Kenichirō's family, only that they are very wealthy and powerful. His father owns Yashida Technologies, some kind of big deal company that deals with computers and robots and some futuristic technology that Logan doesn't really understand.

After breakfast, Logan and Kenichirō retire to the dojo to begin warming up and practicing their kata. Logan keeps his movements smooth and deliberate. They've both done these movements so many times that Logan could--and sometimes does--do them in his sleep. That is, of course, the point of practicing kata.

Kenichirō favors Kenjutsu, the technique of the sword. But he and Logan always spar in Shotokan karate. Logan privately thinks swords are a bit silly. He always keeps his claws sheathed for their karate matches, though Kenichirō of course knows they exist.

Kenichirō has told Logan that Logan is the equivalent of at least a 2nd dan black belt. Kenichirō himself has been officially awarded a 5th dan black belt in Shotokan. He's very good. Logan's sure that now he could beat Kenichirō in a no-holds-barred fight, though. Training here has made him much stronger and faster. His technique is excellent, and his senses and his ability to heal give him an extra edge.

After a morning of training, they break for a midday meal.

Kenichirō says, casually, "Logan, I'm going to Tokyo this weekend. You want to come?"

Logan shrugs. "Sure." He travels to Tokyo somewhat frequently, to visit Mariko. She works there as a secretary for Yashida Technologies. Logan loves her, but distance and culture have forced them to take things slow.

Kenichirō gives him a small smile. "Excellent. My father... has a task for us." Logan tilts his head to one side and waits for Kenichirō to expand. After a moment, he continues, "My father's company is transporting a valuable new technology tomorrow night. He has reason to believe that a rival will attempt to steal it, and he would like for us to travel with the shipment and safeguard it."

"All right," Logan says. It sounds easy enough.

They pass the next day and a half as normal, and then they take a Yashida Technologies private jet to Tokyo. It's a smooth ride, and much faster than the train, but Logan still hates it. Alone, he always takes the overnight train to Tokyo, even though it's twelve hours each way. He closes his eyes, focuses on his breath, and meditates, and before he knows it, they've touched down. A limo ushers them to the sleek, shiny Yashida Technologies headquarters.

They go inside and have a quick meeting with Shingen Yashida, the father of Kenichirō and Mariko, and the president of Yashida Technologies. The three of them converse in Japanese. Logan has learned the language well enough, but he stays quiet throughout most of the meeting. It's a family affair, and he is the hired muscle. Mostly, Shingen wants to stress the importance of this shipment, and Kenichirō wants to make it clear that he and Logan will be able to take care of it. Finally, Shingen bows to them and dismisses them. Logan and Kenichirō return the bow and leave.

Kenichirō says, "We'll have dinner with Mariko before we go."

"Great," Logan says. He's always happy to see Mariko, even if it's always a bit awkward when Kenichirō is around. Logan gets the sense that Kenichirō would prefer it if Logan weren't dating his half-sister.

They meet at Kamikura, an expensive restaurant that Kenichirō loves and Logan hates.

Logan's least favorite thing about Tokyo--about every Japanese city he's visited, really--is the pervasive smell of fish. At least Mariko's sweet scent is there to mask it. He greets her with a kiss, and she blushes brightly. Kenichirō lets out a small, disapproving cough.

"Hey, darlin', you look beautiful," he says. Though Logan's learned Japanese well, they generally converse in English. Mariko and Kenichirō have all spoken it since childhood; it is the language of international business.

"Oh, Logan, you are too kind," she says.

"Just telling the truth," he replies. She shakes her head, but she gives Logan a tiny smile.

Kenichirō frowns and says, "That shirt is a little low cut, don't you think?"

Mariko raises a hand to her chest. "Do you think so? I just bought it. I--I went shopping with some of the girls from work and they thought it was pretty."

"The other girls aren't representing the Yashida family, are they?"

"No, I suppose not," Mariko says.

"I don't think you should wear it out again," Kenichirō says sternly.

"All right," Mariko says peaceably. "I won't." Kenichirō nods once. "So, what brings you two to Tokyo?" Mariko asks, changing the subject.

"Business," Kenichirō says curtly.

"Of course," Mariko replies. Logan recognizes her hurt tone. On a few occasions, Mariko has haltingly confessed to him that she feels left out of the family business. She's made him promise not to tell Kenichirō or Shingen. Logan agreed; he doesn't know that it's any of his business. But he does think Shingen is a fool to keep Mariko working as a secretary. She's a smart lady. Also, she's the one who's set to inherit the company, not her illigitimate brother. Logan once asked her how Shingen expects her to take over if all she knows is a secretary's job. She'd blushed and said that the job would go to her future husband. Logan had stored that piece of information away. He suspected that he wasn't really the person Shingen had in mind for that task.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty head about it," Kenichirō says. "It's under control."

Logan shrugs at her across the table, trying to convey with his face that he thinks Kenichirō is being an idiot. "How was your day, Mari?"

She smiles. "It was very nice. I helped Mr. Sato give a very interesting presentation about a new development in nanotechnology."

Kenichirō hisses, "Shut up, you fool!"

"Hey, Kenichirō, there's no need to talk to her that way," Logan says. It takes all of his zen training not to punch Kenichirō in the face.

Kenichirō lets out a breath. "I apologize, Mariko. It is only--we should not talk of such things in public. The city has ears."

"Of course. You're right. I should have known better, Kenichirō," Mariko says, her head bowed. She's near tears. Logan reaches out to squeeze her hand on top of the table. She squeezes back, briefly, then pulls her hand back under the table. Logan works his jaw and holds back a growl. Mariko shakes her head minutely at him.

Kenichirō observes this exchange and then redirects the conversation to a recent baseball match. "The Giants are doing quite well this season, you know. They beat the Hanshin Tigers five to one! I think they'll take the championship, I really do."

"That would be nice," Mariko says distantly.

Logan says nothing.

Undeterred, Kenichirō carries on a lengthy analysis of the performance of all six teams in the Central League while they eat. Logan and Mariko stare intently into each other's eyes. Mariko is so beautiful, so gentle. Logan could understand why Kenichirō would want to keep her away from someone like Logan. Except that Kenichirō isn't protective of Mariko, he's just controlling. Logan has asked Mariko why she even listens to him. She always just smiles sadly and says, "Oh, Logan, you do not understand families."

Maybe he doesn't, but it still seems to him that a brother should look out for his sister, not just push her around. If Logan had a sister, he's sure he wouldn't treat her the way Kenichirō treats Mariko.

After dinner, Logan and Kenichirō escort Mariko back to the apartment she shares with her roommate Kumiko. Her father has insisted that she not live alone, and she has obeyed, much to Logan's dismay.

Logan gives her a gentle kiss goodbye outside the door. To his surprise, she tightens her arms around his neck and returns the kiss with intensity. He gasps for air when they finally part. She gives him a serene smile and says, "Good night, Logan. Good night, Kenichirō. I hope that your... business... goes smoothly."

"I'm sure it will, darlin'," Logan says, still stunned from her kiss. Their physical relationship had gone farther than that before, of course, but never in public. Never in front of Kenichirō. He rather thought that little Mariko was trying to send a message to Kenichirō. He hoped that he wasn't getting caught in the middle of some family battle. But if that is the case, he knows whose side he'd be on. He's suggested before, in fact, that he and Mariko should just leave the country, leave her family behind.

But she always shakes her head and says, seriously, "Oh, Logan, I am not like you. I have a family. I have a country. I cannot leave them so easily."

She's right, of course. Logan doesn't even know what country he's from. How can he understand the forces that compel her to stay? Watching the way Mariko's family treats her makes Logan glad he doesn't know his family.

His evening task with Kenichirō goes according to plan, more or less. They ride in the back of a truck packed with boxes containing nanotechnology pieces or some shit. Logan doesn't really care. All he knows is that it's his job to keep anyone else from taking it. They make it to the high tech laboratory in the industrial suburb of Ōta without incident. It is only when they are unloading the truck that Logan's senses tell him something is wrong. He sniffs around inside the truck and discovers a Japanese woman in a skintight black costume.

"Hey!" he calls out.

She looks at him and smiles appreciatively. In Japanese, she says, " _I love Western men._ "

He snorts and says, " _I'm taken._ "

" _You speak Japanese? I'm impressed._ "

Logan tenses his muscles and launches himself at the interloper. Kenichirō calls out, "Stop!" Logan assumes he's talking to the thief, and he continues his attack.

"Logan! No!"

By then, Logan has already slammed the woman to the ground. She hisses and stares up at him with a complex expression on her face. This close to her, Logan wrinkles his nose in confusion. She smells very familiar, somehow, but he can't quite place it.

Kenichirō approaches them with a glower on his face. In Japanese, he says, " _Yukio-san, what did you take?_ "

" _I only took what was coming to me. And it's probably ruined now, anyway._ "

" _Good. Return it._ "

She sneers, and Kenichirō nods at Logan. Logan carefully lets the claws on one hand extend, millimeters from her throat. Yukio raises her eyebrows. "Well, well," she says, in English. "All right. Let me up."

Logan tilts his head incredulously, and she says, "I can't get it out if you don't let me up."

"Where is it?" he asks. "I'll get it."

She smirks. "It's in my bra."

Logan shrugs. Keeping one hand against her throat, he reaches down with the other and unzips her black leather catsuit. He delicately reaches in and pulls out a small plastic vial. It contains a tiny silvery item. He hands it to Kenichirō, who looks slightly shocked.

"Is this the only one?" Kenichirō asks. Logan leans forward and sniffs. He extracts another vial from Yukio's body and hands it to Kenichirō. Logan retracts his claws and Yukio sits up. She runs a hand back through her short hair and slowly zips her catsuit back up. She glares at them both. Then she says, "I'll see you both around, then." She rolls to her feet and sprints away. Logan looks to Kenichirō, who shrugs. He's carefully examining the glass vials Yukio had taken. A few moments later they hear a motorcycle start.

"Who the hell was that?" Logan asks.

"A former employee," Kenichirō says.

"And what was she after? What did she mean, what was coming to her?"

Kenichirō shakes his head. "Make sure everything here is secure. We can discuss this in private." Logan obediently searches the rest of the warehouse, but finds no other intruders. The rest of the shipment is moved as planned, and Kenichirō and Logan return to central Tokyo.

Once they're back in the truck, Logan asks, "All right. So what was all that about?"

Kenichirō replies, "As I said, Yukio once worked for Yashida Technologies. She worked on the team that made this nanotechnology possible. However, we caught her trying to sell corporate secrets to Fujitsu. Of course, we had her fired."

"Ah," Logan says. He's still trying to figure out why she had smelled so familiar. "But what do those little chips do?"

"They are part of a larger project."

Sometimes Logan gets extremely frustrated with Kenichirō. He takes a deep breath and says, as patiently as possible, "And what's the larger project?"

Kenichirō leans forward and says in a low voice, "We are working on a way to make others who are like you!"

"Like me?"

"Gifted. With special abilities like you have. This nanotechnology would join with a normal human at a cellular level and alter their very DNA."

"Oh. Huh," Logan says. "Seems like... that could be dangerous."

"In the wrong hands, certainly," Kenichirō says offhandedly. "That is why it is so important that we guard it. Of course, it's not really ready for test subjects yet. It's still extremely fragile technology. Still, very exciting, you must admit."

"Yeah," Logan says, noncommittally.

That night, Kenichirō and Logan both stay at a hotel in Akasaka, the upscale business district. It's much nicer than the kinds of places Logan stays when he comes to Tokyo on his own, and he's slightly uncomfortable with it. By the time they check in, it's far too late to call Mariko, but Logan isn't particularly tired.

He goes down to the hotel bar and orders whiskey. After his third drink, the bartender raises his eyebrows and asks, "Are you drinking to forget?"

"No," Logan says. "I'm drinking to remember."

The bartender laughs, as if it had been a joke. After his fifth, or possibly sixth, drink, Logan goes back up to his room and falls into a restless sleep. He dreams of being shot in the head, and when he wakes up he remembers the kid with long hair and a long coat, the kid who he'd met right after losing his memory. That was who Yukio smelled like, a little. Was it just a coincidence that they had similar scents? Or had she been in physical contact with him? Logan considers the odds of that. He'd last seen that kid years ago, in Pennsylvania. What were the odds that he'd be in Japan? But then--what were the odds that Logan himself would be in Japan?

Logan pulls himself out of bed to sit on the hardwood floor of his hotel room and meditates, trying to shake the memory of Yukio's strange scent from his mind. Kenichirō knocks on his door and Logan rises to answer it.

"Logan, I'm going to eat breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Will you join me?"

"Yeah, sure. Give me a minute."

Kenichirō nods and waits politely in the hallway. Logan quickly dresses. Standing at the room's threshold, he slips his shoes on and locks the door behind him.

At breakfast, Kenichirō says, "Logan, I want to be sure I can count on your discretion about what we discussed last night. I know that you are an honorable man. But I cannot stress the importance of this project's secrecy highly enough. Do I have your word?"

"Of course, Kenichirō," Logan replies, though he secretly wonders how much his word matters if there's already an angry thief out there who seems to know more than enough about the project. "You have my word."

"Excellent, excellent. I'll be returning to Hokkaidō shortly. Will you be flying back with me?"

"Nah, think I'll stick around another day. I'll get the train back tomorrow."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah. I'd like to see Mariko today."

"Ah," Kenichirō says. "Logan, I have been meaning to talk to you about your relationship with Mariko. I really... I am not certain it is appropriate that you continue to see her."

"Well, I don't really see how that's your business."

"Mariko is my sister. What she does... it reflects on me. It reflects on the company."

"What, and I'm good enough to fight with you, but not good enough to date your sister?"

"Logan... I respect you as a person, and I respect your physical prowess. But you must know... you are an outsider. There are some things that perhaps you cannot understand."

"All due respect, Kenichirō, it's 1989, not 1889. If Mariko sends me packing, I'll listen to her. But I'm not going to sit here and let you tell me what to do with my personal life." Logan's vision is starting to go red, and he's carefully controlling his breathing. His temper has gotten him into scrapes before, and he does not want to sever ties with Kenichirō at this moment. He rises and leaves the restaurant. Kenichirō says nothing.

Logan returns to his room to call Mariko. She sounds pleased to hear from him, and he's relieved that Kenichirō hasn't gotten to her. They agree to meet at the entrance to Kiyosumi Teien, a traditional Japanese-style landscape garden. There are walking paths surrounding a peaceful pond, and they both enjoy the quiet refuge from the bustling city. Hand in hand, they stroll along the paths. They make a little game out of seeing who can spot birds, turtles, and other creatures first. Logan's senses give him an advantage, but Mariko is extremely observant and is more familiar with the local fauna. Here, with a beautiful woman by his side and a tranquil garden all around him, Logan is able to shake Kenichirō's words from his mind.

Unprompted, Mariko says, "Oh, Logan, I love you. You know this, yes?"

Logan smiles. "I love you too, Mari."

"Good, Logan. Always remember these things: you are a good man, and I love you."

"All right, darlin'. I'll remember," Logan says, a little uneasily. Her words have an air of finality about them.

"Good," she says, smiling up at him. Then she casts her eyes downward and exclaims, "Look! A baby turtle."

Logan looks down at the water's edge and grins at the tiny turtle, clumsily trying to clamber up onto a large rock. He reaches out to pick it up, but Mariko says, "No, Logan, leave it be. The turtle must find its own way."

"All right," he says. They finish their circuit around the pond in companionable silence. They find a bench and sit with their arms around each other, looking out at the water and quietly thinking.

Finally, Logan says, "What's on your mind, darlin'?"

"Oh," she says. "Things are moving very quickly with my family's business right now. It's... oh... perhaps we should not speak of it. I am not certain if... if my father is doing the right thing."

Logan raises his eyebrows. If gentle Mariko is questioning her father, Shingen must be up to something awful. "What's going on? You can tell me."

But she just shakes her head. "No, Logan, not today. Let's not talk about this today."

He hesitates. He wants to know. He wants to protect Mariko from whatever it is her father is doing. But he doesn't want to cause her pain by making her talk about it. So he says, "All right, darlin'. But you know--you know, if you ever need help, with anything, you just call me. All right?"

"I know," she says, smiling.

"Promise me, Mari. Promise me you'll ask for help, if you need it."

"I promise, Logan. If you can help me, I will ask."

He narrows his eyes slightly. He hadn't missed the subtle restriction she'd placed on her promise, but he decides not to raise the issue right now.

That evening they check into a discrete, upscale love hotel. Love hotels are common in Tokyo, since so few people have lodging that allows for privacy. When Logan comes to Tokyo, he and Mariko usually stay in one, unless her roommate is out of town. They visit a different one each time, as Mariko fears developing a reputation.

Logan knows that he is the only person Mariko has been with sexually, and he can't deny that the thought thrilled him a little. It was also a bit of a burden--he had been terrified of hurting her. He's still afraid of hurting her, though she's certainly no longer a virgin. She's small and delicate by anyone's standards, but particularly when compared to Logan. He's aware of his own strength (not to mention his claws) and he is always so very careful with her.

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They undress and Mariko lies down on the bed, looking very sweetly shy. "You're so beautiful," Logan says.

"Me? No, I am just plain Mariko."

He shakes his head. "Beautiful Mariko."

She smiles up at him. "Well, you are very handsome."

"Glad you think so, darlin'." He lies down and gently straddles her, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows. He kisses her lips passionately, then lets his mouth wander over her throat, her earlobes, her collarbones. She giggles when his beard tickles her, but the giggles quickly give way to soft moans. Logan works his way down her body, licking and sucking at her small breasts. He teases her by tracing patterns on her inner thighs while she squirms and gasps. Finally, he makes his way between her legs. Logan can never get enough of her exquisite taste and scent. He takes his time, listening to her breathing speed up. Eventually, she gasps and shudders out an orgasm.

"Oh, Logan," she moans. He licks his lips and smiles. "Logan, I want you to... I want you inside me."

"Good," he says. She rolls over so she can get a condom from the bedside table. He rolls it over his cock without complaint. He knows how devastating it would be for Mariko if she were pregnant out of wedlock--and by a Westerner, no less. Mariko lies back, legs spread, and Logan carefully slides inside her. Her pussy is already wet from Logan's careful ministrations, and even with the condom, it feels wonderful around Logan's cock. Perfectly soft and slick and welcoming. He thrusts in and out of her slowly and carefully, loving the sensation. His mutation ensures that he can last as long as he wants, and he takes his time before he finally speeds up and comes. He reaches between their bodies to finger Mariko's clit, giving her her second orgasm. She cries out and digs her nails into Logan's back, though any marks she makes instantly heal. Logan carefully pulls out and disposes of the condom. Then he comes back to bed and Mariko nestles against his chest.

"I love you, Logan," she says.

"I know, Mari. Love you too."

"Logan, please, can't we stay the night together?"

"Darlin'... I've told you. It's not that I don't want to, it's just... it's dangerous. I... I might hurt you. In my sleep."

"Oh, Logan, I know you wouldn't. Please? It would make me so happy, just this once, if we could wake up together tomorrow morning."

She's asked before, and Logan has always refused, remembering the way the blood had stained the sheets after he had stayed the night with a woman and tried to fight off a nightmare with his claws. But there's something in her tone that's different tonight. She's pleading, and Logan just can't say no. He sighs. "All right, darlin'. I just... I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she assures him. He pulls the sheet up over them and she lets out a happy, tired sigh. She gets up and pulls on a robe before going to the bathroom and shutting the door. She comes back out a few minutes later wearing a pretty silk nightie. Logan smiles.

He gets up to piss and brush his teeth, returning to bed nude. "You sleep like this?" Mariko asks.

"Yeah," he says. "Uh, I could put my boxers back on, if you want."

"No, no, it's fine. I just--I just didn't know."

Logan reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp. "Let's get some sleep, then," he says. Mariko snuggles against him and quickly falls asleep. He lies awake for a long time, listening to her quiet, even breathing. He wishes there were something he could do to be sure his nightmares would stay at bay. Finally, exhaustion overcomes him and he falls asleep.

The next morning, Mariko awakens him with a soft kiss to the top of his head. "You see?" she says. "I have survived my night with the Wolverine."

He lets out a relieved laugh. "So you have, darlin'. Thank god for that."

"I knew you would not hurt me," she says, pleased with herself. She climbs out of bed and showers. Logan lays quietly in bed and half-heartedly tries to figure out what the hell is going on with the Yashida family.

Mariko and Logan pass another peaceful day together, walking and eating and simply enjoying each other's company before Logan gets on the 6pm train back to Hokkaidō. Mariko stands on the crowded platform and waves goodbye. Logan arrives in Sapporo without incident and takes a pricey taxi back to the Yashida compound. Normally, he takes his motorcycle to the Sapporo train station and leaves it there, but this trip he had flown down. It doesn't really matter, though. Yashida Technologies pays him well, and he really only spends money on getting to and from Tokyo, and whatever expenses he incurs during his short trips to the city.

When he gets home, Kenichirō greets him with a pleasant smile, as if Logan hadn't angrily stormed out of the room the last time the two of them had spoken. Well, Logan is happy to put the confrontation behind them if Kenichirō is. They pass the week training as usual. Friday night, Logan is relaxing in his bedroom when he hears the phone ring. The phone is nearly always for Kenichirō, so Logan lets him answer it. His hearing allows him to hear Kenichirō say, in Japanese, " _Sorry, Mariko-chan, he isn't here. … Who knows where he could be? … Of course I will tell him you called._ " Logan frowns. He can only assume that Mariko called asking for Logan--he and Kenichirō are the only two who live there full time. But Kenichirō knows full well that Logan is in his bedroom. They had just eaten dinner together less than an hour ago.

Logan wants to confront Kenichirō about the lie, but instead he waits until he hears Kenichirō leave the living room. Then he pads downstairs to the house phone and returns Mariko's call.

"Hai?" she says. She sounds as if she has been crying.

"Mariko, it's me. Logan. What's wrong?"

"Logan! Oh, oh. Kenichirō told me you were gone."

"I got back," he says, brusquely. "What's wrong?"

She pauses. "Can... can you please come? To the city?"

"Of course, darlin'. I'll get on the next train. Are you all right? Are you in trouble?"

She sighs. "I am not... not in danger. No. But, please, I need to talk to you. Not on the phone."

"All right. Like I said, I'll get on the next train."

"I love you, Logan."

"Love you too," he says. He hangs up the phone and heads outside to his motorcycle. Nothing about this sits right with him. Only when he arrives at the station does he realize he's neglected to pack a bag or even to tell Kenichirō he's leaving. Well, he can wear the same clothes tomorrow. And it would serve Kenichirō right, anyway, since he'd already lied about Logan being gone. He buys his ticket for the next train to Tokyo and paces around the station waiting room until it arrives. He's the only Westerner in the station, and several of the other people waiting look at him nervously. For the first time, Logan wishes he could fly one of the company's private jets. He realizes he probably could have gone to the local airport and gotten a flight to Tokyo. Oh well. The train will serve him well enough. He gets into Tokyo at 7:13 am and is standing in front of Mariko's door by 7:34. He knocks softly, and Mariko pulls the door open after the very first knock.

Tearfully, she says, "Come in, Logan."

He blinks in surprise. She almost never invites him into her apartment, as her roommate disapproves of Logan (and the feeling is mutual).

"What's wrong, Mariko?" he asks. She shakes her head and starts crying harder. He puts an arm around her and gently propels her to the living room's low sofa. "It's all right, Mari. I'm here." He rubs a hand up and down her back. She keeps crying, but finally manages to hold her left hand up to Logan's face. A glittering diamond is on her ring finger.

Logan catches his breath. "Mariko?" he whispers.

"I... I am sorry, Logan," she says. "I am sorry."

"You... what?" he asks, unable to comprehend.

"Please, Logan, please understand. I--I never--I was not unfaithful to you. But--Mr. Ishii proposed marriage to me. And my father told me that I must accept. For--for the--for the business. Mr. Ishii is very--he--" she starts sobbing again, unable to continue.

Logan isn't sure who to be more angry at--Kenichirō, Shingen, this Ishii... or Mariko herself. He had always known that she did whatever her father told her to do, but he had never dreamed she would go this far.

"Mari," he pleads. "Don't marry him. Marry me. Please. I'll--I'll get you a ring. I'll do whatever you want. I love you."

She cries harder and presses her dripping face against Logan's chest. He's unable to stay angry with her, though she's just broken his heart.

"I can't, Logan. I can't. You don't understand."

"It's 1989, Mariko. You don't have to do everything your father tells you to."

She looks up at him with bloodshot eyes. "My family is important to me, Logan. The company is important to me."

"I thought I was important to you, too," he says.

There's a long pause before she says, "You are. I loved you, Logan. Part of me will always love you. But--it was not meant to be."

Logan shakes his head and tries his best to calm down. He knows that he doesn't want to hurt Mariko, no matter how much she's hurting him.

"Well. Goodbye, then," he says, rising from the couch. Still crying, she stands up and bows to him formally as he leaves. Outside, Logan punches the brick wall of her building. A few brick chips fall to the ground and his hand starts bleeding. He watches the skin regrow. "Goddammit," he says aloud.

He walks the crowded streets of Tokyo, wondering what the hell he should do now. He feels certain that things are fishy with Yashida Technologies. Should he return to Hokkaidō? Try to keep an eye on things? Should he move on? He doesn't trust Kenichirō, but he enjoys training with him. He sighs. He knows, deep down, that he can't stay with Kenichirō any longer. He doesn't want anything to do with any members of Mariko's family, not even Mariko. Especially not Mariko. He walks the street for hours in a daze. Finally, he walks by a bar catering to tourists, a tacky faux-British pub. It's open, and Logan walks in and orders drink after drink. The bartender looks on in amazement, and asks, "You drinking to forget?"

"Yeah," Logan says. "Something like that."

"Hey, mon ami, I would think that you would have had enough experience with forgetting," a smoky voice says behind him. Logan turns his head. The kid looks older, but he smells the same.

"Hey. I know you," Logan says. "Uh. What's your name?"

"The name is Gambit," the kid says with a cocky smile. "You still remember your name, or do you need another reminder?"

"Very funny," Logan says.

"Easy there, Tommy. Just thought I'd ask."

"Tommy?" Logan asks.

"A joke, Logan. You still remember how jokes work, right?"

"If they work, shouldn't I be laughing?"

"Well, that's a fair point," Gambit says. He sits on the stool next to Logan and says, "So, what brings you to Tokyo?"

Logan shrugs. "A job. You?"

"Ah, the same. How do you like it here?" Logan shrugs again. "I see you are as talkative as you ever was," Gambit says.

Logan says, "Hey. The day... we met. The day I lost my memories. What in the hell were we doing there?"

"You still don't remember anything?"

"No."

"Damn," Gambit says. "Well, perhaps we should talk about this somewhere more private. Do you live in Tokyo?"

"Not exactly."

"Ah. Well, we can go up to my apartment, if you'd like."

Logan briefly considers before saying, "Yeah, okay." The kid smells honest, but even if this is a trap of some kind Logan's pretty sure he can fight his way free. He's good at that. So he downs the last half of his beer in one go, settles his tab, and follows Gambit up the street. He lives nearby, in a small apartment in a fancy highrise. It smells familiar to Logan. Like smoke and sex and Gambit. They settle down on the futon and Logan says, "So?"

Gambit leans back, stretches out his long legs, and says, "You didn't even offer to buy me a drink."

Logan lets out a low growl and Gambit holds out his hands. "Easy, mon ami. A joke. I will have to remember that you do not like jokes."

"I like jokes just fine," Logan says. "When they're funny." He hasn't spent time with another Westerner in three years. It startles him to see Gambit's lazy posture--it would be offensive for him to sit like that around a Japanese man. But it relaxes him, too, to see a man so comfortable in his surroundings.

Gambit laughs. "All right, fair enough. Well, Logan. We met in New Orleans, goin' on four years ago now." He spills out a far-fetched story while Logan listens incredulously.

"William Stryker, huh?" Logan asks. "I killed him?"

Gambit shrugs. "Maybe you did. Never saw his body, though. But I haven't heard anything about him since, and I been keeping my ears open. Oh!" he says, rising from the futon. "I got something of yours. Always thought I might run into you sometime to return it." He goes into an adjoining room and comes back with a leather jacket. "You left this on my plane," Gambit says. "So forgetful."

"Huh. Thanks," Logan says. He pulls on the jacket. He doesn't remember owning it, but he likes the way it feels.

"Looks good, homme," Gambit says.

"What about that guy, Victor Creed?" Logan asks.

"Don't think that jacket would fit him."

Logan rolls his eyes. "I mean, is he still alive?"

"Don't know. Probably. It'd take a lot to kill Victor Creed."

"Huh."

"He's like you, you know. Can heal."

"Do you know--have I always been able to do that?"

Gambit laughs, then looks solemn. "Hey, mon ami, I really wish I could help you out more with your memories. But I only knew you for one day before you lost them. And I don't know you know this or not, but you are not a man who says much about himself."

"I don't expect I was able to get too many words in edgewise around you, Gambit."

Gambit laughs again. "I like to tell a story much as the next man," he acknowledges. "Maybe a little more."

"What exactly are you doing in Tokyo, anyway?" Logan asks. "Dealing cards?"

"Ah, no. Just a little honest thievery. And yourself? What kind of work are you in?"

"None at the moment, I guess. I was... guess you could say I was in security."

"Well, personally, I am grateful that the security industry no longer has a man of your talents in their employ."

Logan manages a grin at that, if not a laugh. Encouraged, Gambit says, "You know, I never got the drink I went in that pub for. If we are finished talking of confidential matters, perhaps we could return?"

"Yeah, all right," Logan says. It isn't as if he has anything better to do. So they return to the Hobgoblin pub and drink. Logan finds himself half-listening to Gambit's stories. They're irritatingly self-aggrandizing, but entertaining enough. The thief's voice has a hypnotic quality to it, and his scent is like nothing Logan's ever encountered. He wonders if drinking whiskey makes other people feel the way Gambit's pheromones make Logan feel.

They eat at the pub, too, a reasonable approximation of fish and chips. Finally, after dinner and innumerable drinks, Gambit leans in and asks, "So, where are you staying in the city?"

Logan shrugs. "Guess I'll find a hotel," he says. "My plans changed recently."

"Plenty of room at my place," Gambit offers.

"All right," Logan says, knowing full-well what he's accepting.

They're barely inside the front door before Gambit puts his hands on Logan's face and kisses him confidently. Logan responds in kind. Why the hell not? Gambit is weirdly, magnetically charming. And Mariko is marrying someone else. Before long, Gambit is sucking his cock. He's quite skilled at it, too--not like sweet, inexperienced Mariko. Fucking Gambit is different, too. Logan's not afraid of hurting him. He suspects Gambit might like it if Logan hurt him a bit.

That night he sleeps soundly, one arm around Gambit.

They never discuss it, but Logan's night with Gambit turns into weeks. Logan finds a gym nearby and tries to continue his training. He misses having Kenichirō to spar with, but Remy LeBeau turns out to be nearly as good of an opponent. Their sparring always has an undercurrent of sexual tension. There have been a few bouts where it took all of Logan's willpower not to throw Remy to the mats and fuck him right there, but he doubts that the other members of the gym would condone such immodesty.

One morning, Logan is sitting in the living room reading a two-week-old edition of Time magazine. The cover photo shows cheerful teenagers sitting atop the Berlin Wall. Logan supposes he's glad the wall has come down, but it doesn't really affect him personally. He flips through and sees an article entitled "[Ethics: Should Gays Have Marriage Rights?](http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,959077,00.html)" He reads that in San Francisco voters had rejected a proposition to allow homosexual couples to register their marriages with the county clerk. He reads this in a detached sort of way, and after he finishes the article it occurs to him that he appears to be living with another man and having sex with him on an extremely regular basis. Is he a homosexual? He doesn't know about that word. He'd always thought homosexuals were sissies, which Logan certainly is not. But Remy LeBeau's no sissy either, and he's by far the most enthralling person Logan has ever met. Logan supposes that neither of them are really the marrying kind anyway, so that whole debate is probably moot.

He turns the page and reads something about the Catholic church potentially allowing nuns to conduct services, in the absence of a priest. This story in no way affects Logan. Frogs could conduct Catholic church services for all he cares. His ears prick up at the sound of a key in the door. Remy's out on some kind of surveillance mission and isn't due to return for a few hours, and anyway, Logan doesn't smell him. He sniffs again. It's familiar, but he can't quite place it. The door swings open and reveals Yukio, the thief he'd briefly fought months ago. It wouldn't surprise him at all if Remy were working with her. But it also wouldn't surprise him if she were here to steal from Remy. So Logan drops his magazine and rises to his feet, ready to fight her if necessary.

She raises her eyebrows. "Ah. I was wondering where you were. Kenichirō is looking for you, you know."

Logan shrugs. "I ain't got nothing to say to Kenichirō."

"I suppose you wouldn't. Well, you're better off with LeBeau than you were with the Yashida family, I can tell you that much."

"What are you doing here, Yukio?" Logan asks.

"I need to speak with Gambit."

"He'll be back in a few hours."

"I'll wait."

"Suit yourself." Logan shrugs and returns to his magazine. Yukio makes herself at home, plucking another magazine off the living room's low table and settling next to Logan on the futon. Logan wonders what the extent of her relationship with Gambit is, or was. They both look up from their reading material when they hear Remy's cheerful whistling in the hallway. If he's surprised to see Yukio sitting in his apartment, he doesn't show it.

"Hey, Yukio," he says casually.

"Gambit. They're making progress. We have to stop them."

Remy sighs. "Of course."

"Kenichirō is set to run the first trial run tonight."

"On who?"

"They got some low-level clerks to volunteer. They think it will help their chances of getting promoted, but they don't know what they're in for."

"Dieu, that is evil," Remy says.

"Would one of you two mind telling me what the hell you're talking about?" Logan asks.

"Remember that nanotechnology you stopped me from stealing from Yashida Technologies?" Yukio asks.

"Sure."

"Well, I'm the one who created it. It's unstable, because I wasn't quite done with it. When I found out what they wanted to do with it, I quit and tried to take it with me. They don't have anyone else who could finish it properly, but they're going to test it anyway. I'm not sure what would happen."

"That's the stuff that was supposed to turn people into mutants?"

"Yes," Yukio says.

"And what exactly did they want to do with it?" Logan asks.

"Kenichirō wants to create his own army of mutant warriors. You were his first, Wolverine," Yukio says.

"Huh," Logan says.

"He is a ruthless man, Logan, as you must know by now. He is not someone who can be trusted with this technology," Yukio advises.

Remy says, "So, what we gonna do to stop him?"

Yukio smiles grimly. "I have engineered something new. A tiny set of nanobots whose sole directive is to overwrite their predecessors. All we have to do is break into Yashida Technologies and open this vial," she says, producing one from her handbag. "My nanotechnology will take care of itself."

Logan raises his eyebrows. "You're going to break in to Yashida Technologies?" He knows firsthand how heavy their security is.

"Well," she says. "We have a few tricks up our sleeve."

And so that night Logan finds himself helping his lover and his former enemy break into his former employer's laboratory. Yukio, a technological genius, has figured out a way to disrupt the alarm system. Logan stands as sentry, his eyes and ears allowing him to locate Yashida's security officers easily. He's able to warn his partners with some tiny headsets that Yukio has given them. Remy and Yukio together will slip into the lab and take care of the mutating nanotechnology. It all sounds simple enough, though Logan is well aware that any number of things could go wrong.

Logan makes short work of the two guards who approach him. He carefully hides their bodies behind a carefully-manicured decorative shrub and continues to quietly, anxiously pace the lab's perimeter. After several minutes, he hears Remy's voice in his ear. "Ah, Wolverine, maybe you'd better get in here," he says over the radio.

"Be right there," Logan replies. He heads in the back entrance, knowing the alarm has been deactivated. Then he follows his nose to find Remy and Yukio. He finds Remy tossing charged card after card at Kenichirō, who is dressed in some kind of elaborate shiny silver samurai costume. Kenichirō is laughing like a madman and waving his hands around. The cards fly off in random directions, wreaking havok on the expensive laboratory. Kenichirō appears not to care about the collateral damage.

"What the hell?" Logan says.

Yukio says, "He was here in the lab, with a few of the test subjects. He must have guessed what we were going to do, because as soon as he saw us, he injected himself. Everybody else ran off."

"And it worked?" Logan asks.

"I guess so!" Yukio says.

"What about your antidote or whatever?"

"I released the new nanobots and they destroyed the remaining doses. But it's too late for Kenichirō. The nanotechnology has already changed him on a cellular level."

"Could you two hold science class some other time?" Remy asks. His tone is casual but he's fighting hard against Kenichirō.

Logan watches the two men fight for a few more seconds, determining the rhythm of the battle. Then he rushes at Kenichirō, claws out. Kenichirō makes a small gesture with his hand and Logan can see glowing energy reflect out from it, like some kind of sword.

 _Dammit_ , Logan thinks to himself. Kenichirō always did like playing with swords. Logan never really trained with swords, but he knows Kenichirō is a master with a katana. Well, Logan still has his healing factor, and he continues his assault on Kenichirō. Gambit steps back from the fray but continues to toss cards at Kenichirō with stunning accuracy. He never once hits Logan, though Logan and Kenichirō are fighting in very close quarters.

It isn't an easy fight--Kenichirō and Logan were fairly evenly matched even before Kenichirō gained a mutant power. But then, Logan hadn't had Gambit on his side when he'd trained with Kenichirō, and ultimately, the two are able to overpower him.

"Now what?" Logan asks. He wipes his bloodstained claws on his black pants before letting them retract into his body.

Yukio shrugs. "We have done what we can. We had better leave." So they slip back out the way they had come in, leaving Kenichirō unconscious on the floor of the lab in a puddle of blood. Logan hadn't cut him too deeply, and a guard will find him well before bleeds to death. Probably.

"He ain't gonna be happy when he wakes up," Logan mutters.

"Well, we'll be far away when that happens," Remy says cheerfully.

"We had better be," Yukio says. "Let's go. Now." They make their way back to Remy's apartment in a carefully circuitous manner, making sure that no one is following them. Once they're inside, Yukio says, "Something isn't right."

"Yeah," Logan says. "Kenichirō is some kind of crazy silver samurai now."

Remy lets out a snort of laughter.

"I mean," Yukio says, "That technology shouldn't have worked. I know--I know when I left, there was no one else at Yashida Technologies who could have completed that project correctly."

"Maybe you're not as good a scientist as you think you are," Logan says.

She lifts her chin. "I'm exactly as good as I think I am."

"All right, chere, what you want to do about it?" Remy asks.

Yukio sighs. "I don't know. I think... I don't know. But I do think that we need to keep a very tight watch on Kenichirō."

Remy nods. "Well, I don't think he'll be up to very much tonight, anyway."

"You're right, Gambit. I... we will be in touch. Thank you both for your help."

"Course, chere," Remy says. Logan nods. Yukio bows to them both and leaves the apartment, still clearly agitated.

Remy leans back on the futon and grins at Logan. "That was something, huh?"

"Yeah." Logan hadn't liked being in the laboratory. It had smelled very wrong to him. And he's still alarmed about what had happened to Kenichirō. What Kenichirō had done to himself.

Remy tilts his head to one side, regarding Logan. "Well," he says. "I'm going to go shower off."

"All right," Logan says. He's pacing the length of the small living room. When Logan hears the shower stop running, he retreats to the bedroom. When Remy emerges from the bathroom, Logan pushes himself on Remy, kissing him, tasting him, guiding him down to the bed. He's getting Kenichirō's blood on their sheets, and he doesn't care. He's full of adrenaline and he needs to direct it somewhere. Remy's willing. Logan can smell arousal on him, can hear his heart beating faster. They fuck, fast and hard and dirty, and fall asleep sweaty and grimy.

Logan wakes up that night with vague visions of himself in a laboratory like the one they'd seen that day. In his dream he had been in so much pain. When he wakes up, of course, the pain is gone. Next to him, Remy is awake and looking at him with haunted eyes.

[   
](http://lick-j.livejournal.com/1055188.html)

Remy murmurs, "I think you and me, I think we have the same sort of dreams, Logan." He shivers. "Never want to go back to that lab."

Logan tightens his fingers in Remy's long hair. "Never," he agrees.

Eventually, they return to a restless sleep. The next morning, Logan rises early. He showers and settles down to meditate in the living room, hoping to rid laboratories and experiments from his mind. He's called out of his meditation by a hesitant knock on the door. He sniffs and recoils when he recognizes the scent outside the door. He throws on a robe and opens the door to reveal Mariko standing in his doorway. She's a mess. Her once-beautiful face is a mass of bruises and swellings.

"My God, Mari, what happened to you?" he asks. She shakes her head and tears stream down her face. "All right, all right, well, come in," he says. He notices that she's walking with a pronounced limp.

"Do you... do you want some tea?" he asks. "Sit down. Please." She nods and sits down on one of the room's straight-backed wooden chairs. Logan puts water on to boil, mostly to give him something to do. He paces up around the room while it heats, barely able to look at his former lover. "Mariko, darlin', what happened to you? Was it--oh God, was it your brother?"

She shakes her head and says softly, "No, Logan, not my brother."

"All right. What happened? Have you been to a hospital? You--"

"I am fine. It is not as bad as it looks, truly. I just--I just wanted a little rest. I--I shouldn't have come here."

"What are you so afraid of? I'm not gonna hurt you, Mari. Never."

"I know you wouldn't, Logan."

"Then who?" She looks down at her hands, and Logan notices that she's wearing a wedding band. She's married already? He hadn't heard about the wedding. He supposes he wouldn't have been a high priority on the guest list. "Your husband?" he asks, his blood boiling.

Mariko's tears start anew. "It's just--he just--he gets so angry sometimes, Logan."

"Goddammit, Mariko, that's no excuse. Where is he? I'll teach him to hit you," he growls.

"Oh, Logan, you cannot. Please. I... I shouldn't have come here." She stands up and Logan puts himself in front of the door. He holds his hands up, palm out.

"Mariko. You can't go back to him. Stay here. I'll keep you safe."

She shakes her head. "I know you would, if you could. But you don't understand. And I don't deserve your help."

"Of course you do," he says. "I... love you, Mariko."

"I know, Logan. But you shouldn't," she says. She slips between him and the door and leaves. Logan doesn't want to frighten her further by physically stopping her. So instead he throws on some clothes and heads out of the apartment, easily following her trail. He knows her scent so well that he can follow it anywhere. As a tall Westerner, he knows he's conspicuous, but he does his best to blend in with the crowd. He ends up in front of a large--large by Tokyo standards, anyway--modern, glassy house in the Roppongi neighborhood. Mariko's husband must be seriously wealthy, not that that surprises Logan.

He stands in the front door and sighs. He knows there's a security camera watching him. He tries the door and finds it locked. He extends a single claw and invites himself in. He pricks his ears and hears a man screaming in Japanese.

" _How dare you? You whore, where were you?_ " He hears Mariko crying, and Logan cannot handle it a second longer. He rushes toward the hateful sounds and finds himself in an expensively furnished bedroom. A short, powerfully built man is holding Mariko by the throat, still shouting at her. Mariko's eyelashes are fluttering and she's clearly struggling to breathe, but she's not fighting the man in any way. Upon seeing Logan enter, the man raises his eyebrows and tightens his grip on Mariko. " _Were you with_ him _? A Westerner? I am so ashamed of you!"_

" _She doesn't have anything to be ashamed of_ ," Logan says, claws out. He's cut the man's throat before he's really conscious of what he's doing. When he regains control of his senses, he's covered in blood. Mariko's husband is long dead, and Mariko herself is unconscious on the floor, with some of her husband's blood staining her dress. Logan kneels down to check on her. She's still breathing, anyway. Must have just passed out from that asshole cutting off her air supply. Logan strokes her hair and tries to think.

Before he can come up with a plan, Kenichirō walks into the bedroom. He's still wearing that silver samurai costume he'd had on the night before. He looks unsurprised to see Logan.

"Predictable as ever, Logan," Kenichirō says. "Such a shame you let your anger get control of you. You killed your ex-lover and her husband in a jealous rage."

"Mariko ain't dead! I'm trying to save her!"

Kenichirō shakes his head. Logan watches as he waves his hand and three short, sharp beams of energy appear in front of his former friend's hand. They look like Logan's claws.

"No!" Logan shouts, realizing Kenichirō's plan. He shields Mariko's unconscious body with his own. Kenichirō laughs. He waves his hands and the energy beams easily pierce Logan's flesh and travel through to Mariko's slender body. She cries out in pain.

" _Who's there?_ " she murmurs.

" _Mariko, you're going to be okay,_ " Logan says. He's bleeding from Kenichirō's attack, but he knows he'll heal. Mariko... won't. He can see that this is a killing wound. She is going to bleed out well before they could ever hope to reach a doctor. He presses his hands against her wounds and says, " _I love you, Mariko. Always._ "

Faintly, she says, " _I love you too, Logan. I... I'm sorry. Please forgive me._ "

" _Of course,_ " he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

Her face is as white as the sheets on the bed. Logan watches her take her last, painful breath. He gently closes her eyelids and strokes her soft hair one last time. Then he stands up and screams a wordless cry of rage.

Kenichirō laughs. "That was your sister!" Logan says.

"My half-sister," Kenichirō says. "And she was in my way. Now I am the heir to Yashida Technologies."

"I thought I... I thought I knew you," Logan says. He's stunned and furious and heartbroken.

Kenichirō smiles. It's chilling, and it utterly unhinges Logan. He throws himself at Kenichirō, forgoing all self-control. He's feral, a wolverine. Kenichirō keeps attacking with his energy sword, but Logan refuses to relent, no matter how many wounds he receives. It doesn't take long before Kenichirō loses enough blood to lose consciousness. Logan breathes.

He stands up and surveys the room. It looks like a scene from a horror film. There's blood and bodies everywhere. Logan himself is covered with blood and rapidly healing wounds. He catches his breath and realizes that he has made some very powerful enemies. He has to get out of here, but he knows a bloody Westerner is going to draw a lot of attention. So he quickly showers in his ex-lover's bathroom, crying at the smell of her perfume that pervades the room. He takes some fresh clothes from her husband's closet. They don't quite fit, but they'll do.

He slips back out of the house, easily avoiding the maid. What now? He must leave Japan, that much is clear. In his haste to follow Mariko, Logan had brought none of his (false) identification with him. So he returns to Remy's apartment and lets himself in. Remy's still asleep, which doesn't surprise him. It's not even nine am yet.

Logan realizes that he'd left the water boiling this whole time. The kitchen is steamy and the kettle is nearly empty. Moving as silently as he can, he turns the stove off, grateful that he hadn't set the apartment on fire, and surprised at how quickly Mariko had lost her life.

He quietly enters the bedroom and grabs his leather jacket, his wallet, and the Canadian passport Kenichirō had gotten him somehow. He lets himself watch Remy sleep for a moment. Then he carefully pulls the bedroom door shut. If he couldn't protect Mariko, maybe he can protect Remy, and the best way to do that is to get out of his life. Remy's a survivor, and Logan knows he'll be fine on his own. They'll both be fine on their own.

Logan finds that his rage has subsided and he's taken over with a crisp, cold, clarity. He knows what he must do. On the street, he finds an ATM and gets all the cash he can. Then he gets a taxi to the airport and buys a ticket for the first flight to Toronto. Passing through security is a humiliating ordeal, but he manages to convince them that he carries no weapons and merely has surgical medical plates all over his body.

He tries to sleep on the plane, but when he closes his eyes, he sees Mariko lying in a puddle of blood. He throws up in a paper bag. The woman sitting next to him smiles sympathetically.

"I don't like flying either," she says. He just grunts in response, and she shrugs and returns to her magazine. The flight is seventeen hours of personal hell for Logan, and when they finally arrive at Pearson International Airport, all he wants to do is sleep. He exchanges his yen for Canadian dollars and knows he has enough for a few nights at a crappy hotel. After that? Well, Logan's made his living here before, and he's sure he can do it again. He's been out of this country for years, but he suspects that there are some who would still remember Wolverine. He'll look into finding those people just as soon as he can get a little sleep in a real bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I just wanted to add a note to the end of this chapter to address something! One reader left a comment saying that my portrayal of Japan was offensive and I have to say that that is something I really struggled with in writing this fic. I am not a fan of the Mariko storyline in the comics and think that most of Logan's Japan adventures in the comics tend to be pretty stereotypical and offensive. For this story I honestly did think about and try to improve Mariko's character a little, to make it clear that she makes what she thinks is a conscious choice to act out of loyalty to her family, rather than just being some kind of puppet. The Wolverine franchise has historically not been good to women and I'm sad to find myself perpetuating this, and yet: Logan requires a steady stream of dead loves in order to maintain appropriate angst levels, so I have joined the crowd and placed Mariko on the sacrificial altar.
> 
> And yes, he went to Japan to learn martial arts. I know it's super-cliche. What can I say? Learning martial arts in Japan was probably the coolest thing the comics bros who created Wolverine could think of.
> 
> Maybe one day I will be a good enough writer to figure out what to do with the Mariko and Logan storyline to breathe a little new life into it, but for now: this is what I got, and I'm deeply sorry if it offends.
> 
> (Also the reason Logan thinks Tokyo smells fishy is because he has a superhuman sense of smell and it's a crowded, coastal city where people at a lot of seafood, and fish tends to have a very powerful odor. I do not mean to imply that all of Japan smells like fish to people with average senses of smell.)


	6. Chapter 6

  
  
_But me, I'm still on the road  
Heading for another joint  
We always did feel the same  
We just saw it from a different point of view_  
\-- Bob Dylan, Tangled Up in Blue

Remy stretches leisurely and rolls over to look at the clock. Ten am. The bed next to him is long cold. Logan always gets up so damn early. Sleep is one of Remy's favorite indulgences, when he can get it. Even if he's not tired, he loves the luxury of lying around in bed; preferably with someone, but alone is fine too. He supposes his homeless childhood has something to do with it, but he's not inclined to overanalyze.

Finally, he gets out of bed in search of coffee. He notices how filthy the sheets are, and he strips the bed and throws them in the hamper.

In the kitchen, he sees Logan's left the tea kettle on the stove, though none of the teacups are dirty. He fills the kettle and heats water for the French press, carefully making himself a strong cup of coffee. He sprawls out on the futon to drink it and wonders where Logan's gone off to. He often gets up early and meditates, but he usually sticks around the flat. But Remy knows they were both shaken up by last night's altercation, and he supposes Logan might have gone out for some fresh air or something. Or breakfast. Remy rummages around the kitchen and comes up with a box of Hello Panda cookies. He shrugs and settles on the futon with them, dipping the cheerful little cookies into his coffee.

He deals out solitaire and makes another cup of coffee. Eventually, he decides to go out for some real food. He gets dressed, pulls on his leather duster, and heads for a nearby noodle cafe where he's a regular; he no longer needs to use his mangled Japanese to order, and instead is handed a large bowl of noodles with salty broth, pork, scallions, and an egg on top. He happily eats it all and then decides to walk the streets for a bit. He has a lot of nervous energy right now, and ends up at the gym. It's early afternoon by the time he gets back to his apartment, and he finds Yukio reading a magazine.

"Thank God," she says. "Do you know where Logan is?"

Remy shrugs. "Nah."

"His ex-lover and her husband are dead, and Kenichirō is badly wounded."

"Dieu," Remy says.

Yukio says, "Kenichirō said that Logan just... snapped."

Automatically, Remy says, "Logan never would have hurt Mariko."

"The wounds... well--they were in sets of three. On all of them. And, well, Logan wasn't always... stable."

"Yukio! He _never_ would have hurt Mariko. You know Kenichirō's crazy. He probably did it."

"She was his sister!"

Remy shakes his head. He remembers the blood all over Logan, the blood on their sheets. He'd believe that Logan would kill Kenichirō in a fit of rage, but Mariko? Logan had only briefly spoken of her, but Remy knew that he had loved her, though she had also hurt him very deeply. Maybe Remy just doesn't want to believe Logan is capable of hurting his former lover. "Well, Yukio, I just don't know. What--what is Kenichirō gonna do?"

"He's certainly giving the appearance of mobilizing his resources to find Logan. If he's nearby--I don't know. But if he's left the country--I think perhaps--that is what Kenichirō wanted. Well. After it became clear that Logan would not fight alongside him."

Remy stands up and opens the single dresser drawer that had held Logan's sparse collection of possessions. "Well, his passport's gone." He's slightly stunned. It wasn't as if he and Logan were _married_ or anything, but they'd been living together for a few months. He would have thought he merited a "goodbye," at least.

When it comes down to it, Remy is used to being the one who leaves in the night. He isn't used to being left, and he has to admit, it stings a little bit. But he'll get by. He always has before.

"Well, what needs doing?" he asks.

"I am not sure. It... it might be best if you left Japan, too. It would be easy enough for Kenichirō to connect you with Logan."

Remy considers this. He supposes he could probably take Kenichirō in a fight, if it came to that. But he generally prefers the path of least resistance, and it doesn't seem like there's much call for him to stick around and get stabbed by a crazy samurai. "What about you? Will you be safe?"

"I'll be fine. But it is easier for me to disappear here. I have family, connections. You... you stick out, Gambit."

Remy can't argue with that. It's the thing he hates most about being in Japan; his anonymity is lost. Even in busy Tokyo, he's just too tall and strange-looking. He briefly thought about cutting his hair, but never went through with it. Still, he says, "I ain't gonna run if you're gonna be in trouble, Yukio." Their relationship is strictly professional; they've never slept with each other. Still, Remy respects Yukio, and he doesn't want to leave her in a bind. But he's also pretty sure that Yukio can take care of herself.

"Go," Yukio says.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. You'll find work, LeBeau."

He shrugs. He probably will. He'd burned a few bridges when he'd parted ways with Inès, but still, he's fairly well-regarded in the underworld, and with good reason. "All right," he says. "I got a few things to take care of here, but I guess it maybe is time to move on."

"Good."

"Keep in touch, Yukio. If there's ever anything I can do for you, you just let me know, all right?"

She grins at him. "Oh, sure, if I ever need an extremely conspicuous spy, I will certainly give you a call."

"Take care," he says.

She nods. "You too," she says, and she leaves his apartment silently.

Remy sighs. Well, it was probably time to leave Japan anyway. And it doesn't sound like Logan's coming back here anytime soon.

Even as he begins packing up the few possessions he wants to keep, he starts making a mental list of the things he needs to do before leaving--close his bank account, change some money, return his keys to his landlord--when he hears a knock on the door. He assumes it's Yukio, coming back with some forgotten piece of information, and he calls, "It ain't locked!"

The door swings open and a tall, pale man stands before him. Remy stands out in Japan, but this man would stand out anywhere. He's easily six inches taller than Remy, and Remy isn't short. His pale white skin and dark, glossy hair bring to mind a vampire or something from his childhood ghost stories. And his eyes... his eyes glow red, much like Remy's eyes do when he charges something.

"Well now," Remy says. "I don't believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance." He adapts his posture slightly. He's ready for a fight, if one's coming, but he won't be the one to start it.

"You may call me Dr. Nathaniel Essex," the man says. He has a British accent and a cold voice. Remy stifles a shiver.

"I'm Remy LeBeau."

"Yes. I know."

"Ah, my reputation precedes me?"

"Indeed it does." Essex pulls the door shut behind him and remains standing at the entrance to Remy's apartment. Remy doesn't invite him to sit down.

"Well, what can I do for you, Dr. Essex?"

"I need you to find some people for me, Mr. LeBeau."

"That ain't exactly what I do."

"Perhaps not. Still, I suspect you could find these people for me."

"And what makes you think that?"

Essex reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. He hands it to Remy. Remy unfolds it and reads: Wade Wilson. John Wraith. Scott Summers. Jean Grey. James Howlett. Victor Creed. Remy looks up and narrows his eyes. "You found me all right. How come you can't find them?"

"Mr. LeBeau, you keep a rather high profile. It was easy to find _you_. At any rate, I suspect that you will be more persuasive than I would be."

"And what exactly do you want me to persuade these people to do?"

"To work for me."

"Work for you doing what?"

Essex smiles. It's an awful smile. He says, "I want them to do the things at which they excel. My money is good." He holds up a thick envelope. Remy reluctantly approaches him and takes it, examining the contents. "Fifty thousand up front," Essex says. "Another fifty for each mutant you bring to me."

"Uh huh," Remy says. "And what makes you think I'm taking this job?"

"I know how hard it is for you to resist easy money, Mr. LeBeau. Besides, if you say no, you may find it rather difficult to find other work. I have... connections."

Remy holds back a sigh. Is this what life after the Thieves Guild has come to? But it does sound like easy money. And if these people decide to work for Essex, well, that's fine for them. And if they say no, it's no skin off Remy's back.

"All right," Remy says. "Tell you one thing, you owe me another fifty right now. I can tell you where John Wraith is."

"Indeed?"

"Dead."

Essex narrows his eyes. "Is he? What a pity. Can you prove it?"

Remy shrugs. "Victor Creed killed him. Creed took the body. Don't know what he did with it."

"If you could find the body, it might still be of use..." Essex murmurs.

Remy blinks. "This was years ago, mind. Doubt there's much left of him."

"Pity. Still, if you expect to be paid for this knowledge, you will need to produce some proof."

"All right," Remy says, fighting a grimace. He's a thief, not a graverobber. "Well, assuming any of these people want to work for you, where should I send 'em?"

Essex hands him a business card with a phone number. "You may call this number and we will arrange a location to meet."

Remy tucks the card into a pocket. "All right," he says. He feels uneasy but his voice is steady.

"Excellent," Essex purrs. "We shall be in touch, Mr. LeBeau. Happy hunting."

"Yeah. Merci," he replies. Essex nods and silently leaves Remy's apartment. Remy sits on the futon and stares at the list of names for a moment. Then he pockets it and finishes packing his bag. He spends the rest of the day settling his affairs in Tokyo, and the next morning he leaves on a one-way flight to JFK International Airport. From there, he pulls a well-worn business card out of a pocket and directs a cab driver to take him to an address in Salem Center.

The driver lifts an eyebrow. "That ain't close."

Remy shrugs. "I can pay."

"Suit yourself," the driver says. Remy's tired from his long flight, but he gamely chats with the driver about the Cold War and the recent fall of the Berlin Wall. The driver is thrilled by the news. Remy privately doubts it'll make that much difference in the long run.

Traffic is bad, and it's two hours before the driver pulls up in front of an enormous gated mansion. From the backseat, Remy rolls down his window, presses the intercom, and says, hopefully, "Remy LeBeau." There's no reply, but the gate swings open. Remy overtips the driver, grabs his backpack, and approaches the front door. Before he can knock, the door swings open, and Ororo Munroe throws her arms around his neck.

"Remy!" she says happily. "You came!"

"Course, chere, I told you I'd come to visit, didn't I?" He hadn't planned on visiting, exactly, but he had kept his promise to stay in touch. In the year since Cairo, he had sent postcards and called occasionally. Ororo had excitedly described the school and its occupants to him, so Remy knew the school was big and fancy, but Ororo's stories hadn't quite prepared him for what he's seeing.

Ororo looks good, much better than she had the last time he'd seen her. Her white hair is clean and long. She's dressed in acid-washed jeans and a huge, hot pink sweater. She's not as skinny as she had been, and her eyes no longer have the frightened, desperate look they'd had in Cairo.

"Now, you gonna let me in or what?" he demands. "Man could freeze to death in this weather!"

Ororo laughs. "It's only November, Remy! It hasn't even snowed yet."

"Lord," he says. "You mean it gets even colder than this?"

"I'll keep you warm!" she says. "I've been practicing, with my powers, and I'm so much better now." She leads him into a beautifully-decorated living room. Remy can't help but case the place; there appear to be thousands of dollars worth of antiques in just this room.

"Hello, Remy," Scott says. He looks distinctly unimpressed from behind his red sunglasses. Remy can't help but wonder what Nathaniel Essex might want with Scott Summers.

"Hey there, Scott," Remy says. "How you been?"

"Just fine. And you? Still stealing?"

Remy smiles brightly. "It's good work, if you can get it."

Scott scowls. "We have security cameras here, if you're thinking about trying anything."

"Hey, Scotty, I wouldn't dream of it. I'm here to see Xavier."

"The Professor's in his office," Scott says. "I imagine he'll let you know when he's available."

"I'm in no hurry," Remy says mildly. He never is.

"Come on, Remy, I'll give you a tour of the house!" Ororo says.

"Whew, that looks like it could take a year or two!" Remy says.

Ororo giggles. "It's pretty big. I'll just show you the best stuff. Like the greenhouse!"

Remy grins and lets the young former thief guide him around the Xavier mansion. He's glad that she's happy here. Once they're out of Scott's disapproving red gaze, Remy opens his backpack and hands Ororo a little Hello Kitty makeup set. "Brought you something from Japan," he says.

Ororo glances at it. "Oh! Um, thanks, Remy!" she says.

"Hmm. You're too old for that, aren't you?"

"No... no, it's really cool," she says with a smile. "It's nice that you thought of me."

"All right," he says. "Well, I also thought of you when I got this." He pulls out a delicate silver charm bracelet with several charms, each a different flower.

"Remy!" she says, and this time the excitement in her voice is genuine. "It's beautiful! Thank you!"

"You're welcome, cherie," he says. "Glad you like it."

"I'll show you my room, then," she says, fastening the bracelet around her wrist. "I share a room with Jean."

Remy laughs. "How many rooms this mansion got? And you have a roommate?"

"Well, Jean's mostly at college now. But she still sleeps here when she comes back for breaks and stuff, like now, for Thanksgiving. Anyway, it was fun. We shared each others clothes and makeup and stuff. We still do, sometimes."

"Well, all right then." He smiles at her room while she puts the Hello Kitty makeup set on her dresser. Ororo has a poster with a beautiful photo of a lioness above her bed. Jean's bed has a New Kids on the Block poster above her bed, and Remy fights back a smile.

Ororo leads him down the hallway, pointing at the doors to her friends' rooms. Abruptly, she says, "Oh, Remy, are you hungry? You had a long trip, didn't you?"

"I could eat," he acknowledges.

"I'll show you the kitchen next, then. We have _really good_ food here. All the time!"

"Sounds like heaven," Remy says lightly.

"It _is_ ," Ororo replies. She leads him to the kitchen and says, "There's the fridge. You can take whatever you want." Remy puts together a plate of Thanksgiving leftovers and finds it hard to disagree with her after his first bite of turkey. Even cold, it's delicious.

"There any coffee?" he asks.

"I'll make you some," she says. She makes it strong and dark, just the way Remy likes it. He's halfway through his second slice of pie when Xavier wheels into the kitchen.

"Remy, how lovely to see you again," he says. "And Ororo, thank you for showing him around."

"Of course, Professor," she says.

"What brings you to New York?" Xavier asks.

"I was hoping to talk to you, actually," Remy says.

"Certainly. What's on your mind, Remy?"

"You know a man named Nathaniel Essex?"

Xavier's face freezes for a moment. "Where did you meet Essex?" he asks.

"Japan," Remy replies, after shoveling his last bite of pie in his mouth. "He found me, actually. Asked me to do some work for him."

Xavier looks at Remy and says, "I believe we should finish this conversation in my office." Ororo makes a face, and Remy gives her an apologetic shrug. Remy picks up his dirty plate and Xavier says, "You can put that in the dishwasher, Remy," with an elegant nod in the direction of the appliance. Remy obeys and then follows Xavier down the hall to his beautifully-furnished office. He desperately tries not to calculate the room's total value.

"All right, Remy," Xavier says. "What is it that Essex asked of you?"

Remy reaches in his pocket and pulls out the list. "Wanted me to find these people--these mutants, and convince them to work for him."

Xavier scans the list and his mouth tightens. "Did he tell you what he wanted them to do?"

"No. Well," Remy amends, "he said he wanted them to do what they're best at."

"I see," Xavier says, his voice icy. "And have you... have you found any of these people? Aside from Scott and Jean, of course."

"No. I came here first. I did tell him Wraith was dead, though. He said... he said if I could find his body, that might still be... might still be of use to him."

"Hmm. Remy, do you have any idea who Nathaniel Essex is?"

"No," Remy says. "I... I didn't like him, though. Gave me a real creepy feeling."

"He is... he is an immortal scientist. He enjoys experimenting on mutants. His methods are... highly unethical. I am not certain what he wants with these people, but I doubt it is anything good. You must not work for him."

"No," Remy says. "I been experimented on myself. Didn't like it much."

"Yes, of course," Xavier says. He looks relieved. "Remy, once again, I would urge you to stay here, at my school. I do not believe Essex would look favorably upon your refusing to work with him. I can offer you some measure of protection here. And I think you might come to enjoy life here."

Remy looks down at his hands and considers. Could he stay here? He's sure he could find work, whatever Essex's threats. Essex really had creeped him out, though.

Xavier adds, "You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like, or as short of a time. I would not compel you to stay against your will, Remy."

"Yeah. All right. I'll stay for a while, at least. Merci, Professor."

"You are quite welcome, Remy. Now. Scott will show you to your room. I am sure you must be tired after your travels."

"I am, at that," Remy admits. Scott appears in the doorway of Xavier's office, and Remy blearily remembers Xavier's telepathy.

"So, you're staying, huh?" Scott asks.

"Thought I might stick around for a spell, yeah," Remy says.

"Just great," Scott says grimly.

" _Scott_ ," Xavier says firmly. "Please show Remy to one of the open bedrooms on the second floor."

"Yes, Professor," Scott says, looking no happier about the prospect of Remy staying at the mansion than he had back in Cairo.

Remy puts on his biggest grin. "Are we gonna be roommates, Scott?" he asks.

"No," Xavier says. "Remy, you may certainly have your own room."

"Aw, here I was looking forward to sharing clothes and makeup with Scott," Remy says. "Ororo told me that was the best part about having a roommate."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Let's go, LeBeau." Remy sighs and follows the dour young man.

In the hallway he says, "Look, Scott, I promise you, I mean no harm to this school. I know you don't like the things I've done, and, well, that's fine. But I ain't gonna steal anything here. I give you my word."

Scott snorts. "Lot of good that's worth."

"Scott, I know that you do not respect me, but I am a man of my word."

"We'll see about that."

"Yes. You will."

Scott stops in front of the door closest to the stairs on the second floor. "You can take this room," he says. "There's a bathroom two doors down."

"Much obliged for the hospitality," Remy says, with a slight nod. Scott shrugs.

Remy scopes out his new bedroom. It's much nicer than his apartment in Tokyo had been, though at this moment, he's pretty sure he could sleep on a bed of nails. He shucks off his clothing and falls asleep, dead to the world for the next ten hours.

In the morning, he dresses and goes downstairs. The kitchen is empty, but there's still some coffee in the pot. He happily drinks it and wonders where everyone is. He decides to wait in one of the living rooms. He turns on some daytime television. He's not terribly interested in it, but he leaves it on as pleasant English-language background noise while he plays solitaire on the coffee table. Eventually, Jean, Ororo, and a Latina girl Remy doesn't recognize enter the room.

"Hey, Remy!" Ororo says happily. "You remember Jean, right? And this is our friend Cecilia. Cecilia, this is Remy. He's going to stay here now."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Cecilia," Remy says. She extends her hand. He takes it and kisses it, and she giggles.

"Where are you from, Remy?" she asks.

"New Orleans, in the great state of Louisiana. And yourself?"

"I'm from Brooklyn."

"And Jean, how have you been?"

"Just fine, Remy, thanks. I'm in my first year at Columbia."

"Yeah? And what are you studying there?"

"I'm pre-med."

"Oof, sounds like a lot of work, cherie."

"It is," Jean acknowledges. "But I love it."

"Well, good. I would hate to think of you putting so much work into something you didn't like."

Jean smiles and Ororo says, "Hey, Remy, come to lunch. Scott and Jean are going back to college this afternoon so it's kind of a goodbye party." Remy lets out a mental sigh of relief that Scott will soon be leaving.

"Sure thing," Remy says. He smoothly gathers his cards off the table. He can't resist showing off for his small audience of pretty teenage girls, and he gives the deck a few elaborate shuffles before slipping the cards back into his pocket. "So, Cecilia, you're still in high school, then?"

"I'm a senior here," she says. "I'm hoping to attend Columbia next year, too."

"That's great," Remy says. "What do you think you'll study?"

"I'm looking at pre-med as well, actually."

"She knows a good idea when she sees one," Jean says with a smile.

"What a smart group of ladies you all are," Remy says.

"Where did you go to college?" Cecilia asks.

"Oh, some people call it the school of hard knocks," Remy replies cheerfully.

"Oh," Cecilia says, clearly taken aback. Remy shrugs. Stryker had taken him during his junior year of high school and Remy had never returned. He was smart enough, but he just didn't think school was the best use of his time. He learned everything he needed to know from his père and from the Guild. He'd only gotten a GED after he'd returned to New Orleans because Jean-Luc had insisted.

Ororo says, "Remy's really smart, though."

"Smart enough, I suppose," Remy says. "Let's go to lunch, d'accord?" He follows them to an ornate dining room. It's set with fine china, and several steaming pizzas are sitting out.

Jean laughs. "Pizza? Scott, you could pick any meal, and you picked pizza?"

Scott shrugs and grins at Jean. "I like pizza."

"And you don't get enough of it at college?"

"No such thing as enough pizza," he says. Remy observes with interest. Scott's actually acting like a regular human being. He must really like Jean. Or really hate Remy.

Ororo introduces him to the school's other residents. Hank, a furry blue genius. Remy only understands about half the words he says, but Hank seems like a nice enough guy. Lorna Dane, a green-haired girl about Jean's age. Sam and Paige Guthrie, two young blond mutants with sweet Appalachian accents. Neal Shaara, a handsome, calm Indian boy. Julio Richter, a quiet boy with deep brown eyes hiding behind shaggy dark hair. Sean Cassidy, a chatty middle-aged redhead. And Betsy Braddock, an unbelievably sexy British woman. She has long purple hair and a perfect figure. Remy thinks that sticking around a private high school might not be so bad after all.

He sits next to her. "So, Betsy, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Teaching English literature. And karate," she replies, her accent crisp.

Remy raises his eyebrows. "Brains _and_ brawn? You're Remy's kind of girl."

"How lucky for me," she says with an eyeroll.

He gives her his most charming grin. Remy enjoys a challenge. "Now, chere, can't you play nice?"

"I'll play nice if you can keep your eyes up here," she says, pointing at her face.

"Why would I want to look anywhere else, when your face is so beautiful?" Remy asks.

"God," Betsy mutters. "Really?"

"It really is, Betsy. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Remy, I swear-- _Professor!_ " she screams. Great, Remy thinks. He's already annoyed her so much she's asking Xavier to intervene with his seduction attempt? He must be really off his game.

"Yes, Betsy, I--I feel it too," Xavier says.

"What is it?" Scott asks, terribly alert.

"Everyone get to the basement, now!" Xavier snaps. "Something is coming."

"Something is already here," a low voice says.

Everyone looks up to see Nathaniel Essex standing in the doorway. Remy's heart sinks. What an idiot! He had led Essex straight to Scott and Jean.

"Of course," Essex says. "A school for mutants. Why did I not think of this?"

"Professor? Who is this?" Scott asks.

"My name is Dr. Nathaniel Essex. It is _so_ nice to meet you, Scott Summers. I have read so much about you."

Scott narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It is just a pity you left William Stryker's facility so soon, Scott. There was so much more we could have learned about you. But there is no time like the present."

"Get out of my school, Essex," Xavier says. "You are not welcome here." Jean and Betsy are both standing up. Betsy is shimmering. She looks even more beautiful and fierce now. Remy suspects that things are happening on the astral plane. He stands, too, and snaps open his telescoping bo staff.

Essex laughs. Abruptly, everyone in the room aside from Remy and the three telepaths falls to the ground, screaming in anguish.

"Scott!" Jean cries, then claps a hand over her mouth. Xavier looks steely.

"Come now," Essex says. "Jean, you can end this. All I ask is that you and Scott come with me. I promise, shall leave the rest of your friends alone."

"Jean, do not listen to him," Xavier says through gritted teeth. Remy observes the scene and starts throwing cards at Essex. Essex makes a dismissive hand gesture and the cards all explode well before they hit him. He glowers at Remy, and Remy feels a strange buzzing sound in his head. It's clearly nothing like what the others are feeling. They're all still wailing, in obvious agony. Jean has moved to stand behind Xavier. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, but she's resolutely holding onto Xavier's shoulders and glaring at Essex.

Suddenly he hear Betsy's voice in his head. _Remy, you have some kind of telepathic immunity?_

 _I guess,_ , he replies. He remembers the Shadow King's attack in Cairo, how it had knocked out Inès and left him merely irritated.

 _Kinetic energy surrounds your brain, Remy. It must offer you some level of protection from harmful psychic attacks,_ Betsy tells him.

 _Can I do something to help? How can we stop this guy?_

 _Xavier is fighting him off on the astral plane. They are both very strong telepaths. I am not certain who will tire first. Jean is helping him. But perhaps... what do you know about Essex?_

 _Xavier told me he was immortal. A scientist. I wonder if he's like Wolverine, a healer? If he is, it'd take a lot to stop him. Maybe a bullet to the brain._

 _You charge objects with energy. Could you charge a person?_

 _No. Nothing living._

Jean jumps into their psychic conversation and says, _Maybe--Betsy, if we can distract Essex--Remy could go down to the medbay and get a sedative._

 _Worth a try,_ Betsy replies. _Even if he's a healer, it might knock him out for a minute or so, and that'd be all Xavier would need. Do you think you can do that, Remy?_

 _Absolutely. What am I looking for?_ Jean sends him mental directions. Remy slips out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible. His Thieves Guild training is paying off. The medicine cabinet is locked, but Remy finds a paper clip on the desk and picks it. The lock swings open and he finds what Jean had described. He prepares the syringe, following Jean's instructions, and then he hurries back upstairs. The scene is still grim. Xavier is plainly holding onto consciousness for dear life. The other mutants are still in pain. Essex looks the same as he had when Remy had left.

 _You're back! Go now,_ Betsy says. _We are tiring._

 _You have to get it into his vein,_ Jean says. _Let me help you..._

He feels her enter his mind. Her energy is nervous, and he tries to share his own innate confidence with her. He sneaks up behind Essex, who still doesn't appear to see him. Betsy is doing good work. He silently counts to three, grabs Essex's wrist, and lets Jean guide his hands.

Essex screams and throws Remy against the wall. Remy's head makes contact with the wall, hard, and he loses consciousness.

When he opens his eyes, he's lying on his back. He blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the light, and looks around. It's very white and sterile. He sits up, panicked. Is he back on the Island? Is he with Stryker?

"Easy, Remy, you're all right," a deep, gentle voice says. "You're safe here."

Remy blearily turns to face the source of the voice. He blinks upon seeing a fuzzy, blue face, and then everything comes back to him. It's Hank McCoy. He's at Xavier's school, in the medbay. He'd foolishly led Nathaniel Essex right here. "Where's Essex?" he asks. "Is everyone all right?"

Hank smiles. "Yes, Remy, everyone is fine. Essex is... taken care of."

"What do you mean by that?" Remy asks, rubbing his forehead.

"Once the sedative you gave him kicked in, Xavier had a few moments to put up powerful shields in Essex's mind, effectively blocking off his power. Then I called our contact at S.H.I.E.L.D. and they've already arrived to take Essex into custody."

Remy blinks. "There's a jail that can hold Essex?"

"Let us hope that that is the case, anyway," Hank says. "Now. How are you feeling, Remy?"

Remy shrugs. "Well, I'm alive, eh?"

"Indeed. Any headache? Nausea? Dizziness?"

"Headache," Remy admits, "but I've had worse."

"Have you previously suffered concussions?"

Remy shrugs. "Who hasn't?"

Hank laughs. "Well, Remy, each additional concussion you receive adds to their severity. I would strongly recommend you try to steer clear of being knocked unconscious for awhile."

"That is always my aim, Hank."

"Of course. Now, you may take acetaminophen--popularly known as Tylenol--for your headache," Hank says, handing him a small plastic bottle and a glass of water. "Do _not_ take ibuprofen or other painkillers."

Remy swallows a few pills. "Could you turn down the lights in here?" he asks. "It's real bright."

"Of course, Remy. You may be feeling increased sensitivity to light."

"I always have that," Remy says. "My eyes are different."

"Different from what?"

"Different from regular human eyes. I can see real good in the dark, but bright lights really hurt."

"Fascinating!"

"I guess," Remy says. Hank turns the lights down and Remy sighs with relief. Hank tries to give Remy a CT scan, but the image just shows a bright blur.

"Oh my, how intriguing!" Hank says, studying the image. "Your mutant gifts must interfere with the computerized tomography. Scott and Lorna have the same problem."

"Huh," Remy says. "So... what's that mean?" He's impressed and slightly put-off by the amount of technology down in this basement. But what does a school need with all of this? It reminds him of Stryker's lab, or of the Yashida lab. At least it's presided over by a friendly face.

"Just that I cannot accurately study your head for signs of brain injury. But don't worry. Doctors got by before the invention of the CT, and we have other ways to check you out." Hank talks to him, putting together a medical history. He checks Remy's balance and reflexes (they're excellent, as always).

"I think you'll be just fine, Remy. Still, I recommend that you rest for the next few days. Give your brain a chance to recover. You may find that reading or other close activity strains your eyes. And please tell me if you start to feel any worse--if you find that you experience seizures, significant memory loss, or anything else out of the ordinary. For now, though, you are free to leave the medbay, if you feel up to it."

"Yeah, Hank, I'm fine. Merci."

"Of course. And thank you for your part in detaining Essex."

Remy lets out a bitter laugh. "Least I could do, seeing as it was my fault he was here in the first place."

Hank shakes his head. "I rather think Essex would have found us sooner or later. It's for the best that you were here when he arrived."

Remy shrugs uncomfortably. He feels nauseous, but he doesn't think it has anything to do with his concussion. "Well, thanks again, Hank," he says. He takes the elevator up to the second floor and lies down on his bed. He rolls over onto his stomach and tries to play solitaire, but looking at the cards gives him a headache. Hank had been right about that. He gathers the cards up and lies flat on his back, studying the ceiling. He hears a soft knock on the door and he calls, "Come in!"

The door swings open and Ororo walks in. She smiles. "Remy! Are you all right?"

He props himself up on his elbows. "Just fine, cherie. And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm okay. Psychic pain doesn't leave any bruises or anything--as soon as Essex passed out, it stopped."

"Well, that's good, I suppose," Remy says. "I'm real sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugs. "It is the kind of thing the Shadow King used to do."

Remy winces. "Sorry, Ro," he says softly. "I don't know why I didn't think that he would follow me here...."

"It doesn't matter," she says. "You didn't do it on purpose. Everyone understands that. And you stopped him."

"Xavier stopped him."

"He couldn't have done it without you, though!" Ro sits down on the edge of his bed. "Remy, listen. When I came here... I thought... I felt really bad about... things I did. With the Shadow King. But Xavier really made me understand that it wasn't my fault. I did the best I could. And so did you. Why did you come here, Remy? To the school?"

"To talk to Xavier, about Essex. To warn Scott and Jean."

"Exactly. That's what matters, Remy." He sighs, looking into her earnest young face.

"I should have known better, though."

"Remy! Let it go. You can not change the past. All you can do is learn from it."

Remy grins. "Sounds like you've been talking to Xavier a lot, cherie."

"Well, I have. But what's wrong with that? He's a smart guy. Way smarter than you, Remy."

Remy laughs. "You came here to hit a man while he's down?"

"No, Remy, I came to say thank you."

"For what?"

Exasperated, Ororo says, "For stopping Essex! For trying to warn us! Just say 'you're welcome, Ororo.'"

"You're welcome, Ororo," Remy parrots.

"Good. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," he acknowledges.

"I'll bring something up for you."

"Thanks, Ro."

"You're welcome, Remy," she says on her way out the door.

Remy's head feels better, and the knots in his stomach have mostly dissolved. A few minutes later, his bedroom door opens. He sits up and smiles, but it's not Ororo--it's Betsy, with a tray of food.

"Hello, Remy. Ororo said she had a lot of schoolwork to catch up on so she asked if I'd bring you up some dinner." Remy fights a grin. Ro's a clever girl. He's glad she's on his side.

"Doing fine, chere. Much better now that you're here."

She smiles. "Well, you never really got a chance to eat pizza this afternoon, so I thought I would bring you some." He happily accepts the tray.

"S'il vous plait, Betsy, sit down and join me a spell. I was trying to get to know you before we were so rudely interrupted."

"All right," she says. She pulls the desk chair over to Remy's bedside. "You did well today."

He shrugs. "Couldn't have done it without you, chere. Are you all right? What happened after I got knocked out?"

"Essex raged for a few minutes. It was close--he nearly overtook Xavier. But the sedative worked and he lost his focus after that. Xavier shut him down, shielded him off. It was good work. Now Xavier's resting, but he's fine. Everyone else recovered as soon as Essex was knocked out."

"And you're all right? Couldn't have been easy, keeping him distracted like you were."

She smiles. "Fine, Remy, truly. Essex is strong, but I don't think he stood a real chance against three telepaths and you. I think you'll be a good addition to the X-Men."

"The what?"

She tilts her head curiously. "Has Xavier not mentioned the X-Men to you?"

"Just got here yesterday, cherie, and I been kinda busy."

"Yes, of course. Well, I'll leave it to the Professor to tell you about us, then."

"Cherie, that's no fair. You can't pique a man's curiosity like that and then not tell him."

"Whoever said life was fair, LeBeau?" Remy gives her his best pout, and she sighs. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you a bit," she says. "The X-Men--a rather silly name, but what can you do--is what we call the team of adult mutants who... help those who need help. We're nominally led by Professor Xavier, though of course he rarely enters the field with us. Sometimes we help the police apprehend a mutant suspect. Sometimes we rescue mutants who are being persecuted by humans. Sometimes we step in to stop mutants from committing crimes before human police can get involved."

Remy nods. "Does this have anything to do with, what did Hank say? S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Not exactly. We sometimes ally with S.H.I.E.L.D., but we answer to the Professor, not to Nick Fury."

"Who?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. He's the director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"And what makes you think I'll join the X-Men, anyway?" Remy asks.

"I saw what you were like, fighting Essex. You're a good man, Remy, and a good fighter."

Remy snorts. "Guess you haven't talked to Scott about me."

"I know your past. I know you were a thief. Scott... Scott has his own issues to deal with. Don't let him bother you. It doesn't matter to me that you once stole things, and it doesn't matter to the Professor."

He shrugs, and she adds, "Anyway, I am fairly certain that the X-Men uniforms will persuade you to join, if nothing else."

"Oh? Would you show me yours, then, chere?"

She smiles. "I'll show you when you're well enough to face me in the Danger Room."

"The what?"

"It's where we train. You'll see it soon enough."

Remy says, "I feel fine. We can see it now."

She shakes her head. "Hank said two days of rest, minimum. The last thing you need right now is another head trauma."

"What's the matter, chere? Afraid I'll win?"

"Remy, you cannot goad me into anything. I am not afraid to face you. I am merely paying close attention to Hank's medical expertise. You would do well to do likewise."

He holds his hands out in surrender. "All right, all right. Two days."

"Two days minimum. But as soon as Hank clears you for training, I'll be happy to show you a thing or two in the Danger Room," she says with a smirk.

"I look forward to it."

The next night, Ororo finds Remy in his room. "Phone for you," she says, handing him a gray cordless phone.

Remy raises his eyebrows. "What?" he asks.

She shrugs and leaves the room. "Hello?" he says into the phone, wondering who would possibly be calling him. For a half-second he wonders if it might be Logan--if anyone could track him, it would surely be Logan.

But instead he hears a woman's voice, grainy through a bad connection, say, "Remy? Thank God I got a hold of you."

"Yukio?"

"Yes. Remy. Listen. Nathaniel Essex is looking for you. It's very important that you avoid him."

He laughs. "Listen, Yukio, Essex already found me. He's in custody now. Some kinda supernatural government organization took him."

"What?" He's never heard the unflappable Yukio sound so, well, flapped.

"Yeah. He couldn't stand up to yours truly."

"What _really_ happened?"

"Cherie, you don't believe me? It as just as I said. Essex was defeated by my own strength and cunning. With a tiny bit of help from three telepaths."

"Aha. Well, I am relieved that you are all right. And that Essex has been stopped."

"How'd you know Essex was coming after me, anyway?"

"I put it together from a few things I heard from some of my colleagues. It seems that Essex is the one who took over my research at Yashida Technologies. He was looking for more mutant subjects, and I knew that he was monitoring my communications. It... it made sense, that he would go after you."

"Because I'm so handsome?"

She sighs. "Because you're a powerful mutant, Remy."

"Awful nice of you to say, chere."

"Remy..." She trails off, and he can imagine her shaking her head. But she continues, "I am glad you are all right."

"Thanks for the phone call, Yukio. Appreciate it."

"Take care."

"Likewise," he says. The line goes dead, and Remy smiles to himself. It's good to know that people have his back, even if they're a day too late. Belatedly, he wonders if she had any news about Logan. He supposes she would have shared it, if she had.

The next day, Hank clears Remy for training and he spars with Betsy--or Psylocke, as she prefers to be called in the Danger Room. "Then you can call me Gambit, I reckon," he says.

"Bring it on, Gambit," she says. It's a long, tough fight. They're both fast and well-trained. But Psylocke's used to relying on her telepathic tricks, which don't work right on Gambit. Too, he's been sparring with Wolverine for the last few months, which has taught Remy a thing or two. The match finally ends with Gambit pinning her to the ground and grinning down at her.

"Grow up, Gambit," she says with an eyeroll.

"Thought you couldn't read my thoughts, chere?"

"I can read your face. Go shower up," she says, gracefully rolling out from under him. "You're good, but we definitely have work ahead of us to get you ready to be an X-Man."

"Sounds like a real good time," he says, grinning. Later that day, Betsy presents him with his workout schedule. He raises his eyebrows at it. She hadn't been kidding. But Remy enjoys it. He's always had a lot of extra energy, and the intense workouts help him burn some of it off. He feels calmer here than he has anywhere since New Orleans.

After a few months, Remy's in the best shape of his life, Betsy lets him take her out to dinner, and Xavier presents him with his very own weird black leather jumpsuit. Originally, Remy hadn't planned to stay at the school for very long, but he finds his opinion on the matter has changed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **YO this chapter has NSFW art embedded in it.**
> 
> It's pretty hot.

  
  
_  
If your time to you is worth savin'  
Then you better start swimmin'  
Or you'll sink like a stone  
For the times they are a-changin'_  
\-- Bob Dylan, The Times They Are A-Changin'

"Three... two... one... happy new year!" the crowd on TV screams. Auld Lang Syne plays. Logan's in the kind of bar where nobody gets too excited about the new year. Everyone there knows it's just going to be more of the same.

He'd seen on the news that there were some who had gotten nervous about the year 2000, thought it would be the end of the world, maybe, or that all the computers would stop working or some shit. The TV's still working, though, and the lights are still on, so Logan figures they're probably going to be all right. He finishes his beer and the bartender brings him another without being asked. Logan accepts it with a nod. He looks around the bar at the sad, lonely drunks. Logan's not very different from them, except he isn't drunk. He wishes he could get drunk. It looks like it might be fun. It looks like it might break up the monotony of his life. As is, all he gets from it is a slightly quieter mind. A couple beers usually keep away his nightmares, though not always.

It's been a little over ten years since he got back from Japan, and fifteen years since he lost his memories. Fifteen years, and when he looks in the mirror his face hasn't changed a bit. Neither has his hair. He's experimented with cutting it short, but it always rapidly returns to a shaggy, pointy sort of look. Possibly he could do something about it with hairspray or something, but Logan is unwilling to invest that kind of time into his appearance.

He finishes his beer and decides he might as well call it a night. He settles his tab, pulls on his coat, and steps out into the frigid Canadian winter. His truck and camper are parked in an empty lot just across the road from the bar. It's only slightly warmer inside his camper, and he strips down and gets under his thick down comforter in a hurry. He knows he won't freeze to death, but being so cold isn't exactly pleasant. Logan remembers what it was like to sleep curled around another person, but it's just too dangerous. Logan's nightmares, his uncontrollable rages, his metal claws--he's just too dangerous to risk getting close to anyone again. Unbidden, he remembers Mariko's death and sighs. No matter how many beers he'd had that night, he thinks his nightmares will probably come tonight.

He's right, and he wakes up a few hours later with his claws out, fighting enemies who aren't there. He catches his breath and looks at his glowing bedside clock. Four forty-four. He winces. Four is an unlucky number in Japan, because it is pronounced the same as the word for death, "shi." He stares at the clock until it changes to 4:45. He pulls on some clothes and settles in to meditate for awhile, trying desperately to clear his mind of his nightmares. Some of the things he can remember are awful, yet it's the things he _can't_ remember that madden him. But he doesn't know what to do. He'd pursued his only clue, his dogtags, as far as he could. After talking with Remy all those years ago, he'd gone back to Three Mile Island, but he found nothing there, aside, of course, from a nuclear power plant and some very aggressive security guards.

So he travels the country, making his living in cage fights and boxing matches. He occasionally takes short-term jobs as a bouncer or bodyguard, though his experience with the Yashida family has made him skittish about anything too long-term, not to mention the fact that he's still not a documented citizen of Canada, or anywhere.

He makes no friends. Whenever bartenders start to call him by name, Logan knows it is time to move on.

He is starting to gain a nasty reputation in the world of cage fighting, which at some point everyone started calling MMA. There are rules now, and sometimes Logan breaks them. It isn't that he means to; it's just that he does not know them all. Too, people have started to mumble the word "mutant" when they see him with no bruises, no cuts, no outward injuries of any kind, when they recognize him from matches years ago and notice that he hasn't aged at all. Logan sees the word "mutant" pop up more and more often in the news and he suspects he won't be able to get away with pretending to be normal for much longer.

Sometimes he thinks back to Japan, to Yashida Technologies and Kenichirō's transformation to the Silver Samurai. Why would Kenichirō want to become like him? If Logan could get rid of this curse, he would. Kenichirō had had a family, a life, a home, and he'd thrown it all away. What a fool he was.

Mostly, though, Logan tries hard not to think about Japan. Mostly, he tries not to think about much at all beyond getting through each day. The year 2000 shapes up to be no different from 1999, or any of the years he's spent in Canada. Day by day, fight by fight, he makes it to April and to Laughlin City, Alberta. It's a shitty bar in a shitty town, but he's no longer welcome in many of the bigger cage matches. He smirks to himself when he hears the ref tell his next opponent not to kick him in the balls.

He wins the fight, of course, but he doesn't really enjoy it. None of the contenders are good enough to be a challenge to him--the King of the Cage, they call him. His pulse rate barely raises. Still, it's the best way he's got to earn a living. He collects his winnings and makes his way to the bar.

There's a young girl there. She's out of place and trying desperately not to show it. Logan idly wonders how she got here. Something about her reminds him of Mariko, wide-eyed and innocent. He pushes that thought from his mind and drinks his beer, half-listening to the news about the UN Summit, all the leaders of the world getting together to talk about "the mutant issue."

He smells the man before he sees him; his last opponent from the cage match back to settle a grudge.

"No man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it. _I know what you are_ ," he hisses.

Logan's used to hearing this. He murmurs, "You lost your money. You keep this up, you'll lose something else."

It surprises him when he hears the girl scream, "Look out!" He wouldn't have expected that from her; would have expected her to keep her head down and not try to get involved with a fight between two strange, dangerous men. It was stupid of her, but brave, he supposes. He pops his claws and pushes them against his assailant's throat. He hesitates for a moment when the bartender pulls a gun on him, but still, it's nothing he can't handle.

He briefly considers finishing his beer before he leaves, but he settles for leaving with his cigar intact. Onto the next town, then. He's not surprised, but he is pissed. So pissed it takes him several minutes to realize that the girl from the bar's scent is following him. He stops the truck and finds her under a tarp in his trailer, nestled next to his bike. Doesn't she know he's dangerous? This is no place for her. She should go back home, wherever that might be, before she ends up like Mariko.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demands.

"I'm sorry. I needed a ride, I thought you might help me."

"Get out," he tells her roughly.

"Where am I supposed to go?" she asks, looking up at him with heartbreaking brown eyes.

"I don't know."

"You don't know or you don't care?"

"Pick one," he growls, stalking back to the cab. A pretty girl like her will find a ride, he's sure.

"I saved your life!" she calls, desperately.

"No, you didn't." Back in the truck, though, he gathers his thoughts for a moment. She had certainly _thought_ she was saving his life, anyway. And if traveling with him isn't the safest way for her to go, well, she could do worse. He doesn't have any desire to screw around with skinny teenage girls, but he knows the same isn't true for every man with a truck out this way. He sighs and stops the truck after driving a few dozen feet. He can take her as far as the next city, at least. Maybe give her some money to get back home--somewhere in the American South, if her accent's to be trusted.

Shivering inside the truck, she asks, "You don't have anything to eat, do you?"

He opens the glove compartment and hands her his packet of beef jerky. He'd been looking forward to eating it, but he has a little more meat on his bones than she does. She eats like it's been awhile since her last meal. He'll have to get some more food for her when they stop.

"I'm Rogue," she says, hesitantly. He doesn't respond. He can't afford to get attached to her, and anyway, he's never been much of a conversationalist. Trying again, she looks over at him and asks, "Were you in the army? Doesn't, doesn't that mean you were in the army?"

She has no way of knowing how badly he wishes he could answer that question, and again, he makes no reply, aside from shoving his tags under his shirt. She glances around nervously, perhaps having realized what a terrible idea it was for her to take a ride from a strange man like himself.

"Wow," she says.

"What?"

"Suddenly my life doesn't look that bad."

"Hey, if you prefer the road..." he says, though he has no intention of leaving her again. Still, there's no call for her to be rude. He'd had to save for a long time to buy that trailer, and it has kept him out of shitty motel rooms.

"No, it's great. Looks cozy," she replies hastily. Shivering, she rubs her bare hands together. He sighs and turns up the heat, though his old truck will eat up gas to run it. He can't stand seeing girls suffer.

"Put your hands on the heater," he says, reaching for her. She flinches away, and he says, as gently as he can, "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."

"It's nothing personal. It's just that, when people touch my skin, something happens," she says.

Well, that explained why she wasn't afraid to travel alone, anyway. "What?" he asks, curiously.

"I don't know, they just get hurt."

He shrugs. "Fair enough." He doesn't really know how to explain his powers, either.

"When they come out, does it hurt?"

"Every time," he says, following her non sequitur. It's kind of refreshing, actually. People rarely ask him about his claws. They just run from them.

"So, what kind of name is Rogue?" he asks.

"I don't know. What kind of name is Wolverine?"

It's a cage-fighter's name, though that doesn't explain why it's on his dogtag. "My name is Logan," he says. It's the first time he's used that name in over ten years. The last person who'd called him Logan had been Remy LeBeau.

"Marie," she replies, with a small smile. They travel on in companionable silence for a bit. Logan's relieved by this, and hopes that she can hold her tongue for the rest of trip. Unfortunately, this wish is not to be granted.

Abruptly, she blurts out, "You know, you should wear your seat belt."

He looks at her and rolls his eyes, saying, "Now look, kid, I don't need advice on auto..." He's cut off when he runs into an enormous felled tree. He flies through the windshield and briefly loses consciousness. He quickly wakes up and shakes off his injuries.

"You all right? Kid, are you all right?" he calls. Something about this doesn't feel right. What in the hell was that tree doing there? And... someone's here. Whoever it is smells very familiar, though he can't quite connect the scent to anything in his shattered memory bank.

"I'm stuck!" Marie screams, panicking. Logan squints. It doesn't look like she's actually trying to unbuckle the seatbelt, just pulling at it fruitlessly. He moves to help her, when the source of the familiar smell appears. He's a huge, shaggy man, looking more animal than human. He grabs Logan and throws him against a tree. Logan reels. This could be the first time in years that Logan's had a challenging fight, and all he wants to do is get a teenage girl out of a burning vehicle. Nothing's ever easy, is it? Then his ears pick up the sound of... a jet? Out here? He doesn't have time to focus on the strangeness of it before the outsider whacks him with a huge chunk of wood. Logan blacks out again.

When he wakes up, he's lying on his back with some wires connected to him. A woman's in the room with him, and she jabs him with a needle. He sniffs the room, and hates it. It smells sterile. He sits up and pulls the wires off his bare chest. He's been in labs like this before. He grabs the woman, knocking the needle from her hand and running from the room in a panic.

When he makes it into the hallway, he can't believe his eyes. A familiar figure is slouching outside the door. The face has aged, but the scent has stayed the same.

"Logan!" Remy says. "Didn't think you'd be out for too long."

Logan blinks. "LeBeau? That you?"

"In the flesh," he says, giving Logan a mock bow. "How you feeling?"

"Fine. Where the hell is this?"

"New York. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Remy drawls in an exaggeratedly formal tone. "Whole house full of mutants. We took you here, after that fight you had with Creed."

"Creed?" Logan frowns. He remembers glimpses of a huge, shaggy man with a vaguely familiar scent.

Remy tilts his head to one side curiously. "Victor Creed. Man who fought you up in Canada. Man who fought you back in New Orleans, for that matter."

"I don't... I don't remember," Logan admits.

"No surprise there," Remy says. "Even if you didn't lose your memories... he looks real different now from how he used to. It's... I think he got tangled up in something he probably shouldn't have."

"Huh," Logan says.

"So, how you been?" Remy asks cheerfully, as if it hasn't been ten years. As if Logan isn't standing, barefoot and shirtless, in some kind of shiny metal tunnel, in what Remy claims is a school for mutants.

Logan pauses. "Not great," he admits.

Remy nods. "I... I was sorry to hear about Mariko. And everything."

Logan shrugs. "Yeah."

"So, you want a tour?"

"I ain't exactly planning to stick around."

A look of hurt briefly flickers in Remy's eyes, then vanishes. "Ah, well, all the more reason why you should see the house before you go. Place is like a museum. But I'll show you the kitchen first, d'accord?"

"All right," Logan agrees. They walk past a glass case full of leather uniforms. Remy opens a cabinet under the leather and pulls out a blue sweatshirt with a little X on it, which he hands to Logan. He produces clean white socks and black tennis shoes from another locker. Logan tugs on his new clothing and follows Remy to an elevator. They pass through an elaborately decorated hallway to a fairly normal looking kitchen. There, Remy makes enormous roast beef sandwiches for both of them.

Logan wolfs his down, and Remy says, with a knowing smile, "Plenty more lunchmeat in the fridge, mon ami."

Logan nods and makes himself a second sandwich. It's a nice, well-stocked refrigerator. He supposes this Xavier guy can afford all the groceries anybody would ever want.

Finally full, he asks, "So, this is a school?"

"Yeah, for mutants."

"And you have a black leather dress code?"

Remy laughs. "Only for extracurricular activities. The adults here, we, ah, we're called the X-Men, and sometimes we go out and do stuff like save your sorry butt."

"I would have been fine, you know."

"Oh, well, I don't doubt that, Wolverine, but all the same, it's better that you're here in this fine kitchen and not in Magneto's lair, don't you think?"

"What's a Magneto?"

"Hmm. Maybe it's best if I let the Professor explain all that to you. Magneto's the one who sent Creed after you."

Remembering abruptly, Logan asks, "Hey, where's Marie? Is she okay?"

"You mean Rogue?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"You and her ain't--"

"No! She's just a kid."

"Didn't think so, but just checking," Remy says, holding out his hands. "Anyway, she's fine. Getting settled in. She's sharing a room with Jubilee and some of the other older girls. They'll show her the ropes. Jubilee's been here longer than almost any of the kids."

"She's gonna stay here?"

"Guess so. She said she couldn't go home. Lots a kids here with the same story," Remy says, shaking his head. "She'll like it here, I think."

"That's good," Logan says.

Remy nods. "Where'd you find a Southern belle like her, anyway?"

"Cage fight in Alberta."

"Did she beat you?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "She was in the audience."

"Ah. So what you're saying is, you were scared to fight her."

Logan's honestly too charmed by LeBeau's grin to take offense at his stupid joke. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. Guess I'd better stick around for awhile, see if I can't learn a few things at your mutant academy."

Remy's grin widens. "Guess you'd better." Remy gracefully rolls to his feet and says, "Wanna see the rest of the school?"

Remy shows him the grounds first, and they watch mutant children play basketball. "Hey, Mr. LeBeau! Come be on our team!" one of them calls.

Remy laughs good-naturedly. "Maybe next game, Bobby!" he replies.

"You play a lot of basketball?" Logan asks.

"Yeah, I teach P.E."

"What the hell is P.E.?"

"Physical Education. Gym class. And self-defense, for the older ones. The trainees."

"So you're a mutant gym teacher?" Logan asks incredulously.

"Oui. A gym teacher _and_ the art teacher. I'm what you'd call an essential employee," Remy says wryly. He guides them to a wrought iron park bench and they sit down, talking and half-watching the game.

"How long you been here?" Logan asks.

"Ten years and change. Ever since I left Japan."

"And you like it, huh?"

Remy nods. "I do. It's nice, being around other mutants all the time. Nice not being on the run, too. Xavier... he's got some FBI connections and stuff. My criminal record has been mysteriously wiped clean since I got my degree and took a full-time job here."

"Nice trick," Logan says appreciatively.

Remy nods. "You know," he says. "I bet he could... bet he could help you out too. Get you a social security number and all that."

Logan grunts thoughtfully. That _would_ be nice. "What's the catch? I gotta teach gym class too?"

Remy laughs. "You could help out with art class--wood carving, maybe. You got built-in equipment."

Logan laughs, too. "Well, that'd be something."

"Xavier, though, he lets mutants stay around if they need a place to stay, you know?"

"I don't need charity."

"Nah. Ain't like charity. It's like... more like a 60s commune or something, really."

"Sounds like a real hootenanny," Logan says.

Remy purses his lips. "It's hard to explain," he says, after a pause. "I never in a million years thought I'd end up at a place like this--and as a teacher! But it--ah, Logan, just stick around for a bit, eh? You'll see. Here, let's go see the stables."

Logan follows him, dutifully looking at the horses. They're handsome creatures, though Logan's not really sure what they have to do with school. Next, they go back inside the mansion. Inside, he laughs at the way Remy lights up describing the mansion's works of art--most of them are replicas, though apparently Xavier owns the real things and keeps them in storage somewhere. "A real smart move," Remy says. "A lot of people with art this nice, well, they ain't always that smart." A hint of a smile plays around his eyes.

"Must be hard to steal from a telepath," Logan observes.

"Hey, mon ami, I wouldn't steal from Xavier." Remy sounds genuinely hurt. Well, Logan and Remy had both always had their own codes of honor. Their codes might not match conventional morality, but that didn't mean they didn't have them. Remy was a thief--a former thief, anyway--but there were some jobs he wouldn't take, Logan knows, and this must be one of them.

Remy seems to really like this Xavier guy, which surprises Logan. He knows that Remy's trust is hard to win.

"No, I just meant, in general," Logan says, trying to patch over his mistake.

"Ah. Well, I don't know about that," Remy says, considering. "The telepaths I know, their powers mostly don't work when they're asleep, and that's when I did most of my B&E work anyway."

"How many telepaths you know?"

"Well, the Professor of course, and Jean--from the medbay? she's a telepath--and there... there was another here, but she left. She's in England now."

The changes in Remy's voice and scent are subtle, but definitely there. There's something Remy's not saying about this third telepath, but Logan supposes it's not his place to ask. Not yet. Remy continues, "Then there's Nathaniel Essex, but I don't really know him. Hope I never have to know him."

"Yeah? Who's that?"

Remy gives a small shiver. "Some creepy scientist, likes to experiment on mutants I guess. He came here--well, I guess you could say fighting Essex was my first X-Men mission, even though I didn't have a uniform yet. He--he was working with the Silver Samurai. Remember how Yukio didn't know who finished her project, the one to turn normal humans into mutants? It was Essex."

"Huh," Logan says thoughtfully. He feels a twinge of regret--why had he let Kenichirō live? He supposes it had been out of some sort of misguided loyalty. He had appreciated everything Kenichirō had done for him, up to a point. Logan tries to focus on the present. He hates remembering his time in Japan. Instead, he thinks about Remy.

It's hard for him to reconcile the charming, hard-living card shark and jewel thief he'd known in Japan with this gym teacher and... X-Man. But he remembers what little Remy had told him about the Thieves Guild and supposes it's not such a stretch. The X-Men sound kind of like a Mutants Guild, and that would mean something to Remy.

"We took care of him, though, and haven't seen him since," Remy says, sounding satisfied. "Let's go upstairs. I'll show you a bedroom." On the second floor, Remy shows him an incredibly posh bedroom. "Is this to your satisfaction?" he asks, mock formally.

"Yeah, it'll do," Logan says, blinking. He feels slightly uncomfortable with how nice everything is. He fondly remembers his camper. It hadn't been so nice as this, not by a long shot, but it had been _his_.

"Don't worry. Anything good is a replica," Remy says. "Even the pillows are replicas."

Logan glances at the bed and Remy says, "A joke. The pillows are real. Anyway, there's a bathroom, and we can get you a towel from the linen closet." In the hallway, he gives Logan the promised towel and points out his own room. "My room's across the hall from you, if you should need anything." Somehow it sounds equally like a pickup line and a genuine offer of friendship.

"Anyway, you ready to meet the Professor?" Remy asks.

"The Professor?"

"Professor Xavier. 'S his school. His house."

"Yeah, I guess," Logan says with a shrug. Remy leads him to a huge office on the first floor. It looks like it doubles as a classroom. There's a chalkboard with some notes scrawled on it, and several chairs and desks set up. An old white man with a shiny bald head smiles up at him.

"Logan, how nice to see you. I trust Remy has given you a tour?"

Looking again, Logan realizes the man's in a wheelchair. "Uh, yeah," Logan says. "So this is a school or something?"

"Yes," Xavier says. "A school for young mutants, and a kind of safe haven. Most of them are runaways--like your friend Rogue."

"And then what, they grow up to be X-Men?"

"Some of them do," Xavier says. "Others go on to college and productive lives in the outside world."

"Huh," Logan grunts.

Xavier peers up at him. "Logan, Remy tells me that you lost all your memories about fifteen years ago."

Logan glances sharply at Remy, who shrugs. "Hey, mon ami, I thought maybe he could help you."

"Yes, I do believe I might be able to," Xavier says.

"You... you could help me get my memories back?" Logan asks.

Xavier nods. "It's a possibility."

"Okay," Logan says, unable to keep his voice from revealing just how much that would mean to him.

Xavier smiles. "Unfortunately, right now I must focus much of my efforts on trying to monitor Magneto. But I promise to do my best to try, when I can."

"Right. Who's Magneto? Remy said he wanted something with me?"

"Magneto is a very powerful mutant. He believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I've been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called Sabretooth."

"Remy said his name was Victor Creed?"

"At one time Sabretooth was called Victor Creed, yes," Xavier says slowly. "He has been changed... perhaps that name is no longer appropriate, for the man he has become."

Logan glances at Remy, who offers another shrug. Xavier continues, "Logan, why don't you stay here, at least for awhile? You'll be safe from Magneto, and I will do my best to help restore your memories."

"Yeah. All right," Logan says. Remy grins, and Xavier gives him a small, approving smile.

"Excellent," Xavier says. "Now, I think it's just about dinner time. Logan, Remy can show you to the dining hall."

"Sounds good," Logan says, though he doubts it's been two hours since those roast beef sandwiches. But he's always had a healthy appetite, and he remembers Remy being the same way.

In the ridiculously fancy dining hall, Logan takes a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and warily sits next to Remy. Remy introduces him to Ororo, Jean, and Scott. Logan and Scott take an immediate dislike to each other, and Logan can't quite say why. The guy just gives off a really fussy vibe. He likes Ororo and Jean, though, and not just because they're both strikingly beautiful.

Guiltily, he tells Jean, "Sorry."

"For what?" she asks.

"If I hurt you. Before," he says. He sees now that she's no threat to him, but he'd been terrified to wake up to a needle in his arm. He hadn't acted rationally, which was a common problem for him upon waking.

She shrugs. "I'm fine," she says easily. Scott gives Logan a disapproving look.

"Good," Logan says, ignoring Scott.

Remy laughs. "I see you haven't lost your way with the ladies, Logan," he says, and Scott stiffens.

Logan says nothing, and to fill the silence, Ororo asks, "How do you two know each other?"

Remy grins. "Oh, we attacked a nuclear power plant together."

"I don't really remember that," Logan says.

Scott rolls his eyes. "It wasn't exactly an attack on a power plant."

"What do you know? You was blindfolded at the time," Remy says.

"Wait, Scott, you were at the Island?" Logan asks. In Japan, Remy had re-told him the story of the Island, but it seems he'd left out the details.

Scott bristles. "Yes, I was one of Stryker's test subjects. Briefly. The Professor saved me and the others."

" _After_ Logan shredded all the cages," Remy says, his voice low.

"Cages?" Logan asks.

"Where Stryker stored his test subjects when he wasn't using them," Remy says bitterly.

"Why don't we talk about this after dinner?" Scott asks. "When the kids aren't around?"

Logan shrugs. "Fine by me," he says, shovelling in a forkful of spaghetti.

"That was fifteen years ago," Ororo says. "What have you been doing since then?"

"Travellin'. Workin'."

Ororo grins. "Goodness, are you always this chatty?"

Remy laughs. "Used to be there was times when we'd be in the same room and I'd forget he was there."

"Nobody ever has that problem with _you_ , Remy," Scott says.

LeBeau shrugs. "Remy got a lot of things to say, mon ami. You think he should keep it all to himself?"

"I for one wouldn't mind if you kept about half of your thoughts to yourself," Scott says.

"Your loss," Remy says sadly.

"I think I can live with that," Scott replies.

Logan shifts in his chair and looks around the dining room. "Rogue's over there," Remy says, nodding his head in her direction. "She's with Kitty, Jubilee, Bobby and John. She'll be fine."

"If she can put up with Bobby and John's bickering, she'll be fine," Jean amends.

"Ah, they're not so bad," Remy says. "They just like showing off, whatever way they can."

"Sometimes with fire," Ororo says.

"That is why they are a good pair, non? Bobby can always put out any fires John starts," Remy says.

"That's also why there are fire extinguishers in every room of the mansion," Scott says.

It's almost funny, Logan thinks, to hear this group so casually talking about mutant powers, as if whatever this kid John does with fire is some kind of joke. Apparently finding Logan's conversation skills lacking, the group moves on to talking about plans for an upcoming field trip. Logan half-listens to the adults' conversation and half to the one some of the kids are having. Remy's right; Bobby and John do like showing off.

After dinner, Remy takes Logan into town, after looking around to make sure no one's following them.

"The Professor said you wasn't supposed to leave the school, but we ain't goin' far," Remy says. "And I thought maybe you could use a drink or two."

Logan grins. "Could go for a beer," he acknowledges. Remy drives an extremely nice car to an extremely shitty bar, which a blinking neon light advises him is called Harry's. Logan instantly feels more at home than he had at the mansion, and Remy gets them a pitcher of beer.

"So," Remy says. "Good to see you, mon ami. I always... I always wondered what you were up to."

Logan shrugs. "I was fine."

"Right," Remy drawls.

Logan takes a long sip of his beer. He'd thought of Remy, too, but doesn't need to say so. After draining his beer he says, "So, you been here ten years?"

"Yeah."

"Scott always been a jackass?"

Remy snorts. "Yeah. He never liked me, on account of my... background. You've got a few strikes against you, yourself--you associated with me, you don't have a respectable job, and you attacked his fiancée in the medbay."

"His fiancée? Jean?"

"Yeah."

Logan whistles. "He's a lucky man."

"They go way back, Scott and Jean," Remy says.

"We go way back too," Logan blurts. Remy rewards him with a slow, sexy grin, and Logan remembers how good they'd had it in Japan, before everything had fallen apart.

"I suppose we do, at that," Remy says, studying Logan's face. They finish the pitcher quickly, with Logan drinking much more than his fair share. In the parking lot, Logan turns and kisses Remy, pushing him against the car door.

"Mm," Remy says. "Let's get ourselves back to the mansion, d'accord?"

Logan licks Remy's throat, savoring the man's taste. Remy squirms out of his grasp and gets into the driver's seat of the car. After Logan gets into passenger side, Remy asks casually, "So, you miss me or something?"

Logan lets out a low growl, and Remy grins in response. Back at the mansion Remy calmly parks the car in the mansion's enormous garage and saunters back into the house. Logan follows him, trying desperately to keep his lust in check until they make it into Remy's room. Remy locks the door and Logan immediately pushes Remy down onto the bed, kissing and licking desperately.

"You were always so impatient," Remy murmurs.

"God, Remy, y'smell so damn good," Logan says. He can't resist Remy, not when they're in such close quarters. Here in Remy's room, his scent is almost overpowering. Logan still hasn't met anybody else with pheromones anywhere near as powerful as LeBeau's.

Remy grins insouciantly. "You don't smell so bad yourself," he says. He pulls Logan's sweatshirt over his head and runs his long, thin fingers over Logan's body. Logan pants and fumbles with Remy's shirt. Remy quickly unbuttons it himself, letting the silk fall to a puddle on the floor. Logan eyes him appreciatively before gently biting his nipples.

"Mm," Remy murmurs. Logan makes his way down Remy's body, unzipping his jeans and tasting his cock. It hasn't changed much over the last ten years, though Logan's sure it's been busy. "Dieu," Remy says. He lets Logan work on him for a few minutes before rolling gracefully out from under him. He strips off the rest of Logan's clothes and grabs a bottle of lube from his bedside table. He slicks up Logan's cock and then slowly lowers himself onto it.

[   
](http://lick-j.livejournal.com/1055188.html)

"Christ," Logan grunts. He thrusts up into Remy. It's been a long time since something has felt so good, and he lets out a moan. Remy looks down at him, his messy hair hanging around his face and a cocky grin on his lips, and Logan lies back and enjoys himself for a moment, looking up at Remy. His lean body has gotten a little more muscular since Japan, and his old scars have faded somewhat, though they're still visible, shiny pink stripes against his creamy flesh. Remy's hard cock, still damp with Logan's spit, rubs insistently between their bodies, and Logan takes it in his hand, teasing it. He'd almost forgotten how good sex with Remy was, almost intoxicating. He likes that he doesn't have to worry about hurting Remy; Remy can certainly take care of himself. Before long, they've both come, and they lie tangled together for a moment, sticky and sweaty.

Remy grins. "Welcome to New York, Logan," he says, before tugging Logan out of bed and into the shower with him. They clean each other up and end up jerking each other off under the hot water. Finally, they step out into the steamy bathroom and share a towel to dry off. Logan nips at Remy's neck in the bathroom. He doesn't like that they've just washed each other's scent off, and he sets about trying to mark Remy again. Remy acquiesces, letting his hands wander up and down Logan's back while Logan licks and bites him.

Finally, Remy breaks away, giving Logan a cagey smile. "It's been a long time... been a long day," he says. Logan nods. He's realized belatedly that he'd hurt Remy in Japan, by running out without a goodbye. Maybe he can explain it to the Cajun some day.

After a brief pause, Remy offers, "I can lend you some clothes, until you can get your own stuff."

"Yeah, all right," Logan says.

While Remy digs through his drawers, Logan takes the opportunity to check out Remy's room. It's clearly a lived-in space, and fairly tidy, though there's a dirty clothing strewn about the floor and a half-finished game of solitaire on the desk, on top of what looks like student papers. It has the same basic furniture as Logan's, but the walls are covered with art, and his dresser has a half-dozen framed photos. Logan picks one up. It's a group photo. He recognizes Scott and Jean and Ororo, and there are a few others he's never seen before. Remy's built up a whole life here, while Logan has been purposefully avoiding human contact for the last ten years.

"Let's see. These might work," he says, handing Logan a pair of sweatpants. Logan takes in Remy's lanky frame and sighs. Remy shrugs. "Sorry, mon ami. We'll get you some stuff that fits you soon, d'accord?"

"All right," Logan says, not bothering to argue that he probably isn't going to stick around for very long.

"Oh, and these," Remy says, handing him a pair of boxers. "Don't worry, they're clean," he adds, taking in Logan's expression. His look of disbelief has more to do with the fact that Remy owns silk boxers with pink hearts on them than with any fears about cleanliness, and he suspects that LeBeau knows as much.

"Good to know," he says. "Uh. Thanks for the clothes."

"Any time," Remy says, grinning.

Logan pulls on the boxers and sweatpants and gathers up the rest of his clothing. He stands in the doorway and sniffs the air to make sure no one else is in the hallway. "Night," he says, feeling a little awkward.

"Bonsoir," Remy says.

Back in his own room, Logan falls asleep quickly, if fitfully. He falls back into his old nightmare, which often happens when he sleeps in unfamiliar surroundings. Someone touches him, and he wakes up screaming, ready to defend himself. It takes him too long to realize that he doesn't have to defend himself from little Rogue. What had she even been doing in his bedroom? He looks in horror at the puncture wounds on her pale shoulder, at his bloody claws.

"Help me," he spits out, willing his claws back into his body. "Somebody help!"

She touches a soft hand to his face and he gasps. It burns. It hurts almost as bad as the pain in his nightmares. After a few seconds of this burning pull, he collapses, dead to the world for the third time in twenty-four hours.


	8. Chapter 8

  
  
_"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,  
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke  
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,  
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late"_  
\-- Bob Dylan, All Along the Watchtower

Remy is awakened from his dreamless sleep by Logan's hoarse scream. Dressed only in his boxers, Remy throws open his bedroom door and stumbles into Logan's room. Rogue, dressed in a long, old-fashioned nightgown, looks panicked.

"It was an accident," she says, in her sweet Southern drawl.

"Course it was, cherie. What happened?" He reaches out to touch her shoulder, blearily remembering to aim for nightgown and not bare skin. She shakes her head and runs down the hallway. Remy looks down to see Logan lying on the ground. His old friend looks awful, pale and unconscious.

Jean, Scott, and Ro all rush into the room, trailed by curious kids. "Get back to bed," Scott chides. "Everything is just fine, all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Summers," they chorus disappointedly, as Scott pulls the door shut.

Jean checks Logan's pulse and listens to his breath. "I think he'll be fine. I'd like to do more tests on him, but it seems like his healing abilities are just about limitless. Scott, can you and Remy get him back up onto the bed?"

They do so. It isn't easy; Logan is _heavy_. Remy's felt the weight of Logan's muscle and metal bones over him before, but he's never before tried to lift him as an unconscious dead weight.

"I believe you're right," Xavier says gently. "He should make a full recovery."

"Remy, did you see what happened?" Scott asks.

Remy shakes his head. "I was sleepin', until I heard him screaming. I saw Rogue leaving his room, though. She said it was an accident, and I said of course it was, but then she ran off 'fore I could really ask what happened."

"Why was she in here, anyway?" Scott asks with a frown. "It's not really appropriate for young female students to be in his room."

"Logan did not behave inappropriately," Xavier says. "He was having a nightmare, and Rogue--who couldn't sleep, and thought to visit her friend for a chat--awakened him. He acted on instinct, and inadvertently pierced her with his claws in the wake of his nightmare. She touched him and absorbed some of his healing powers."

"Damn," Remy says. "She looked just fine when I saw her."

"Yes, she has already recovered from her wounds," Xavier says. "They both have remarkable gifts."

"Well, I think he'll recover quickly as well," Jean says. "I'll stay with him until he wakes up."

"I don't know, Jean--" Scott starts.

Remy interrupts, "I can stay with him. He's not aways... he's not always pleasant to be around when he first wakes up, but he knows me."

"That sounds like a serious understatement," Scott mutters.

"That's fine, Remy," Xavier says in his calm voice. "You can wait with Logan. Do call us if either of you need anything. And Jean, perhaps you should check on Rogue."

"All right, Professor," Jean agrees. Scott trails her out of the room. Xavier leaves too, after one final, probing look at Remy. Ororo lingers.

"He'll be fine, Remy," she says gently.

"Course he will," Remy says.

"Remy... how did you and Logan really meet?"

"Ah, it's a long story. Come and sit a spell, ma soeur." Over the years, he's come to consider Ro his sister. Though their personalities are different, their common background has also given them a deep understanding of each other. He knows he can tell her anything without fear of judgment. He spills out the whole story. She already knows about the two years he'd spent with Stryker. She'd curled into bed with him sometimes after his nightmares about the man, and he'd done the same for her when memories of the Shadow King had visited her. But he'd never talked much about his return to the Island, and now he tells her the whole story.

"You were both very brave," she says.

Remy shrugs uncomfortably. "You know me, cherie," he says.

She rolls her eyes and says, "But Remy, that was fifteen years ago. Is that the last time you saw each other?"

"Well, no," he says, and he tells her about Japan. She'd known something about his time in Japan--after all, he'd come to the mansion direct from Tokyo. But he'd never really mentioned Logan in his telling of the story. And then he'd jumped right into his ill-fated romance with Betsy Braddock, and, well, his affair with Logan had just never come up.

Ororo takes in the story and sits quietly for a moment. "You two would make a good couple, I think," she says. "You could do all the talking for both of you."

He laughs. "Well, we'll see about that. It's been awhile." This is why he loves Ro. She takes everything with calm acceptance. She doesn't ask Remy to define himself as gay or straight or bi or whatever.

"But you still remember the secrets to waking up a sleeping Wolverine?" she asks.

"Let's hope so, ma soeur."

"I've never seen anyone you couldn't charm, Remy. I'm not worried."

"Oh? Sometime I'll have to introduce you to Scott Summers, then."

Ro laughs. "Scott likes you just fine. You two just enjoy bickering as much as John and Bobby do. Anyway, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know that you and Logan are an item. It would mean neither of you would be a threat to his relationship with Jean."

"Oh, don't know about that, cherie. Might keep things interesting," he says with a wink.

"Heavens! As if life at Xavier's wasn't already enough of a soap opera!" she exclaims.

"Ah, Ro, you know Jean's not my type."

"You've rather had your fill of telepaths, haven't you?"

"That I have," he agrees.

She smiles. "Well, Remy, I shall leave you with your sleeping beauty. Do call me if you need anything."

"Merci, cherie. Sweet dreams."

After Ororo pulls the door shut behind her, quiet as the thief she'd once been, Remy pulls his chair closer to Logan's bed. He studies Logan's face. He can't quite say what it is about Logan that draws him. He's certainly handsome, in a rugged, scruffy kind of way. But Remy has been with some truly stunning women in his time. And he's certainly been with less psychotic lovers. But, somehow, he's never been able to shed his memories of Logan. He sighs, wondering how long it'll be before Logan bolts this time. But he'll have to wake up before he can do that.

Logan's breathing is deep and steady. Remy decides to go back across the hall and grab a pack of cards. He returns and deals out solitaire on the edge of Logan's bed. He's just about to put the final king in place when Logan sits up and knocks half the cards to the floor.

"Logan?" Remy asks.

"Remy? God, what happened, I... is she all right?"

"Rogue's just fine, mon ami. How are you?"

"Feels like she killed me."

"Well, she didn't," Remy says cheerfully. "You'll be just fine. Professor said she sucked up some of your mutant power for awhile, left you kind of drained. But she healed just fine, thanks to you."

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Logan says. "I just--I was--I have these nightmares, and--"

"I know," Remy says, rubbing his thumb over Logan's incongruously smooth hand. "Don't worry. Nobody thinks you did it on purpose."

"Rogue? Can I see her?"

Remy nods at the clock. "Might not be the best idea right now. You can see her at breakfast, d'accord?"

"Okay. She's fine?"

"She's fine."

"I didn't hurt anybody else?"

"Just Scotty's sense of propriety."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Not worried about him at all," Logan rumbles.

Seeing that Logan is fine, Remy suddenly feels exhausted. He's been up most of the night keeping an eye on his unconscious friend, or lover, or whatever Logan is, and he climbs into bed and rests his head on Logan's broad chest. Logan tenses for a moment.

"Playing with fire, kid," he says.

"I ain't a kid anymore, Logan," Remy says. "And there's fire extinguishers in every room of the mansion."

Logan laughs and tightens his arm around Remy. Remy happily falls asleep. He's always hated sleeping alone.

In the morning, Remy quietly slips out of bed, leaving Logan asleep. He stands in the doorway, listening to see if anyone's in the hallway. It sounds like the coast is clear, so he steps out. He'd forgotten, however, how quiet Ro is.

She gives him a huge grin. "Did you have a good night, Remy? How's Logan?"

He smirks. "Logan's just fine, ma soeur."

"Happy to hear it. See you at breakfast, then?"

He nods, and she glides off downstairs, a private smile still gracing her lips. He pulls on some clothes and goes back to check on Logan. He decides to sit and wait for him to wake up on his own, not wanting to surprise him. Anyway, Remy supposes Logan could use the rest after all he went through the previous day. Eventually, Logan's eyes flutter open.

"Morning, sunshine," Remy chirps.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Time's it?" he asks blearily.

"Breakfast time! Better get dressed before they run out of bacon." That motivates Logan, just as Remy had known it would. He pulls on the jeans and sweatshirt he'd worn the previous day.

"Ah, your jacket's still down in the medbay. And I can get you another shirt, if you'd like," Remy offers.

Logan shrugs, which Remy knows isn't a "no." He crosses the hallway again and comes back with a black undershirt, a maroon button-down shirt, and some clean socks for Logan, who puts them on. Remy unabashedly appreciates Logan's body while he changes. Logan stares back until Remy smirks and says, "As I was saying, it's time for breakfast, unless you have other ideas?"

Logan considers for a minute before saying, "Better get breakfast. I'm starved."

"Fair enough," Remy replies. He doesn't mind; he's hungry too. Down in the dining hall Logan piles his plate high and takes a seat next to Rogue. Remy lets him go. He sits next to Ororo at the teachers' table. Remy understands Logan's protective nature, his need to ensure that Rogue is all right, and Remy won't interfere with that.

Ororo smiles at him and nods at Logan and Rogue. "They're an odd pair, don't you think?"

Remy says, "Logan looks after people who need lookin' after."

"You two have that in common, then," Ro says. Remy shrugs and drinks his coffee. After breakfast, Jean takes Logan down to the lab to run some tests or something, and Remy teaches his art appreciation class. Today they're doing Kandinsky. Not one of Remy's personal favorites, though he understands his value as a forefather of abstract art. He sets up his slideshow and gives a low-key lecture, pointing out the evolution of Kandinsky's distinctive style over the years.

Remy has always loved art, but it has taken a long time for him to be able to look at a painting without immediately thinking of its monetary value. But he has grown to love studying art more closely, figuring out what made something beautiful. He hopes that he can make the kids understand at least a little of that.

Smart-ass John Allerdyce says of _[Composition VII](http://faculty.txwes.edu/csmeller/Human-Prospect/ProData09/02WW1CulMatrix/WW1PICs/Kandinsky1866/Kand1913CompVII444.htm)_ , "It looks like he threw up on that canvas."

Remy laughs. "Tell me, John, what do you think an artist would have to eat to get vomit that looks like that?"

Bobby says, "Maybe he ate a Picasso painting and threw it up."

"Right," John says. "Picasso had his Blue Period. Kandinsky had his Puke Period."

"Do you see any other connections between Picasso and Kandinsky? Which of Picasso's periods is this most like?" Remy asks. All things considered, he thinks he does a fair job at teaching high school. He likes art and he doesn't mind it when the kids are smart-alecky. In fact, he kind of likes it when they're smart-alecky, though he tries to hide that.

Kitty Pryde raises her hand and says, "All of Picasso's work is still representational. Kandinsky uses some of the same shapes, I guess, but I don't think he's trying to represent any actual object. It's more just like, about the feeling?"

"Exactly," Remy says, smiling. "So, how does this painting make you feel?" There's an awkward silence, and he says, "No wrong answer, here. Just look at it, look at the lines, how they move. How do they make you feel? Anyone?"

Rogue surprises him by tentatively raising her hand. "Yes, Rogue?" he says.

"Well," she says shyly. "I don't know. It kind of reminds me of a hurricane. It reminds me of everything swirling around--around in my head. I guess. It's... yeah."

"Well said, cherie. There is something kind of manic about it. But it's a controlled chaos, isn't it? Kandinsky made thirty sketches to prepare for this final work. It took a lot more to make this composition than just a finger down his throat, all right?" he says, looking right at John, who shrugs. Remy looks at his watch. "All right, I guess that's about the end of the period. Any questions?"

Kitty Pryde raises her hand. "When are we going to get our Impressionism papers back?"

"Ah... good question. Soon, I promise," he says, pressing his hand to his heart. Kitty looks skeptical, but nods. Grading is Remy's least favorite part of teaching. He wouldn't even assign papers or exams if Xavier hadn't insisted that it was necessary to "evaluate student learning." The kids file out of the room, onward to math or physics or something equally boring. He decides to go up to his office and grade those damn papers. Or maybe he'll step outside for a smoke. Well, a cigarette first will clear his mind, let him grade faster, he decides. He's pleased with this rationale and finds a nice bench to sit on outside. He's halfway through his cig when Logan settles on the bench next to him.

"Got a light?" Logan asks.

Remy grins and holds his lighter up for him. Logan pulls out a slightly squashed cigar and lights it, nodding in thanks.

"So, how was the medbay?" Remy asks.

Logan shrugs. "Jean looked at my bones and took my blood. Says she has to run some tests, but I think she's probably about as clueless as I am."

"She'll probably call Hank down too," Remy muses. "Used to teach here--he's a big deal mutant geneticist these days."

"Whoopdy do," Logan says.

"Yeah," Remy agrees. "Might find something, though. You never know."

"You think Xavier can really help with my memories?"

Remy considers. "If anybody can, he can, anyway," he says. He finishes his cigarette and puts the butt out in a discreetly-placed coffee can. He sits quietly and watches Logan smoke. There's something sensual about Logan's enjoyment of the cigar, and Remy can't quite keep a smirk off his face. He feels Logan's eyes on him, and when Logan finishes his cigar they head upstairs by mutual, silent agreement. They quickly make their way to Remy's bedroom for an encore of the previous night's activities. It's so good with Logan. Primal.

When they finish, Remy gives a satisfied stretch. They've missed lunch, but they still have time to get leftovers before Remy has to teach P.E. Logan trails after him. He claims not to know how to play basketball.

"Lucky for you, you're in a gym class right now," Remy says. "Who can give Logan here an overview of the rules of basketball?"

"I'll tell him, if he can be on my team," John says.

"That's not fair," Kitty blurts.

"I'll be on your team then, Kitty," Remy says. "That sound fair?"

"Yes!" Jubilee cheers.

"Aw, man," John says. But he dutifully explains all the rules to Logan.

"And I must stress that it is not a contact sport," Remy says. "All right, any questions? No? Good, then let's hit the court."

The game is fast paced, but Remy's team wins, thanks in no small part to all the free throws they get, thanks to Logan's many fouls.

"Good game, everybody, now go shower up!" Remy calls.

Logan grumbles, "You guys ever play hockey?"

Remy smiles and says, "We play street hockey in the gym sometimes, and field hockey. But if that's how you play basketball, I'm not sure I want you playing any kinda hockey around the kids."

Logan snorts and follows Remy inside. "Before we shower, you wanna spar some?" Remy asks.

"All right," Logan says. Remy grins and leads him down the small dojo-like training gym next to the Danger Room.

Logan fights dirtier than Remy remembers, and Remy knows he himself is fighting with more polish than he had had back in Japan. It's an interesting fight, and a good challenge. Remy doesn't use his bo or his cards, just his hands and feet and elbows. Logan keeps his claws in too, enjoying the simple, old-fashioned fight. Eventually it ends in a kind of draw, and they bow to each other. Remy's heart is racing and his face is flushed, and he can tell Logan likes him this way.

Remy supposes they do have ten years to make up for as he and Logan jack each other off in the shower. It's quick and dirty (as far as shower sex goes, anyway) and very satisfying. Feeling extremely content, Remy decides he can finally tackle his art history papers, and he tells Logan, "I'm going up to my office to get some work done. There's books and stuff in the first floor library, or a couple of TVs in the living room, the rec room, and the teachers' lounge--"

"I'm sure I can come up with something to occupy myself," Logan says gruffly, though there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Suit yourself," Remy says. He makes his way up to his second floor office and looks desperately for his papers, only to remember that they're in his bedroom. He sighs and makes his way over to the other wing of the second floor to retrieve them. When he makes it back to his office again, Ro is just leaving hers.

"Remy," she says with a coy smile. "You look well."

He sighs. "Thanks, Ro. How are you doing?"

"Just fine. I am happy to see that you are happy," she says.

He grins. "Look, Ro, I'm not sure about--Logan don't always stick around, you know? So, just, s'il vous plait, don't say anything to anybody?"

She looks offended. "Of course, Remy. You know you can count on my discretion."

"I know. I just--merci, Ro."

Her coy smile returns as she says, "Of course, if you really want discretion, perhaps you should consider being a bit quieter in the locker room." Remy feels his face flush and she says, "Don't worry, Remy. I was the only one who heard anything. I was just passing by to bring some tea to Jean in the lab."

"Right," he says. "Uh, thanks."

"Of course, Remy. I'll leave you to your grading," she says.

Shaking his head, he finally settles down at his desk and glares at the stack of papers. When he was in school, he'd always hated writing papers. He'd much rather give a presentation or a speech, and best of all were classes that graded on "participation." Remy could easily talk his way to an "A." In writing, he had tended more toward "C"s. He suspects that this has made him an overly-sympathetic grader. He takes out his red pen and looks at the first paper. Jubilee had chosen to write about Claude Monet's _Water Lilies_. It's perfectly adequate. She's fulfilled the requirements of the assignment and nothing more. He shrugs and gives her an A. Next in the stack is Piotr Rasputin. In slightly imperfect English, Piotr has written a clever and thoughtful analysis of Georges' Seurat's _A Sunday Afternoon On the Island of La Grande Jatte_. He has clearly put much more time and thought into the assignment than Jubilee has. Remy chews on his red pen for a moment before writing, "A+ Good job" on Piotr's paper. Satisfied, he moves on to the next one. He finishes all of them but two by dinner time. Unfortunately, one of the two is Kitty's. He really should have grabbed that one first. Well, he can finish it after dinner. It shouldn't take long, even if Kitty has, as usual, gone over the maximum page limit.

But after dinner he ends up tagging along with Logan to the train station, looking for Rogue. Logan is nearly panicking at the idea that she's run off. Remy was concerned too, of course. But given her power he was pretty sure she'd be all right, wherever she was. At the station, Logan inhales deeply and says, "She's here." He leads Remy out into the terminal and walks right onto one of the trains. Remy pokes his head in the car and sees her huddled against a window. He watches Logan sit next to her and talk to her gently.

Remy paces around the station, giving Logan a chance to talk to her privately on the train. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a weird movement. He turns to look and sees a man scaling the wall. What the fuck? He reaches into his coat pocket for some cards, and he realizes he's left his cellular phone at the mansion. He's still not used to carrying it, though Xavier has asked him to take it whenever he leaves the house. He looks for a payphone to call the mansion. Ro answers, and he says, "I think you'd better get down here as fast as you can."

She doesn't question him. She says, "We will," and hangs up.

He surveys the station again and sees Victor Creed's shaggy mane. Feeling his pulse start to race, he hopes Ro and the others get here soon. He knows from experience that he can't fight Sabretooth alone, let alone Sabretooth and Toad. He ducks back out to the train platforms, hoping to alert Logan. But he sees Magneto on the train, his cape and helmet looking idiotic. Remy realizes he's been followed by Toad, who launches himself at Remy. Remy sighs inwardly and starts tossing cards at Toad, who nimbly evades most of them. Remy narrowly misses a shot of disgusting green spit to the face. He's relieved when he sees a red blast hit Toad, knocking him unconscious.

"Thanks, Cyke," he says.

"Any time," Cyclops says. "Where are Logan and Rogue?"

"Ooh," Remy says. "They're on one of the trains. Magneto's here, too."

"Magneto? Why didn't you stop him?"

"Got a little distracted," Remy says, nodding toward Toad. "Anyway, what exactly were me and a guy with metal bones going to do against Magneto? On a train full of metal?"

Cyclops sighs and turns back toward the trains.

"Hang on, who else is here?" Remy asks, assuming Cyclops wouldn't have come alone.

"Storm."

"Well, where is she, then?"

They both glance around the station and see that Sabretooth has her by the throat. Remy can see the panic in Ro's eyes and he curses himself for not having noticed sooner. He starts tossing cards and together they make short work of Creed. Ororo's gotten much better at controlling her lightning over the last few years, and she takes advantage of Remy's distraction to strike Creed.

Remy and Ro exchange quick hugs. "Thank you, Gambit," she says.

"Any time, cherie." He's trying to think of a joke to make when rubble falls around them. He and Ro both look up and see that Cyclops has blasted a hole in ceiling. Remy traces the red beam back to its owner and sees Scott in the middle of the room, now squeezing his eyes shut. There's a general chaos in the station, and amidst it, Remy sees Toad scurry out. Cyclops's blast hadn't knocked him out for long.

"Stormy, you want to go after Toad?"

"On it," she says, and glides after him. Remy approaches Cyclops. "Hey, Cyke, it's me," he says softly, taking his elbow. "You got your other glasses?"

Cyclops shakes his head "no," looking pained.

"All right, mon ami, we'll get out of here. What happened to your visor?" Remy scans the ground but doesn't see it.

"Toad took it. With his tongue," Cyclops says with a grimace.

"That is disgusting," Remy says. "Well, he scampered off but Storm was following him, maybe she can get it back."

"I have spares at home," Cyclops says tersely. Remy knows that their field leader hates to be like this, unable to see or fight, and he forces himself not to make any cheap jokes. "What about Magneto? Logan? Rogue? Sabretooth?"

"They... hmm," Remy says. "Stormy got Sabretooth pretty good. Logan and Rogue are--I don't know--" he trails off as Logan runs up to them,

Logan's face is covered with blood. It looks like his nose had been bleeding. The bleeding has stopped, but his face is still a mess. "They got her," he says brokenly.

"What?" Remy and Scott ask in unison.

"It was--I guess it was Magneto--he--I couldn't move, he could control my bones or something--he smashed me against the wall of the train--and he took her."

"Of course," Scott says. "He controls metal, and your bones are laced with adamantium."

"Somebody could have fucking told me about that," Logan growls.

"Well, we _did_ tell you not to leave the mansion," Scott snaps.

"Easy, easy," Remy says. "We'll find her. Let's get Stormy and get back to the mansion."

But then they all hear the Professor's voice inside their heads. _Come outside. There is a... situation._

They leave the station, which is being evacuated by police officers who don't know quite what they're dealing with. Remy guides the still-blinded Scott. Remy and Logan gasp when they get outside and see the dramatic scene unfolding. They stand warily at the back of the crowd.

Scott says, "What?"

The Professor tells them, _Don't do anything. Not yet._

"What's happening?" Scott asks, more urgently.

"Looks like Magneto smashed a few cars," Remy murmurs. "Now he's pointing all the policemen's guns at them. But Sabretooth and Toad are attacking Magneto. Must be the Professor."

"He can do that?" Logan asks. "Control people's minds?"

Remy shrugs. "He don't do it much."

"That little one is holding Rogue," Logan growls. "I can get her."

"Your bones is still metal, mon ami," Remy says. "I could maybe..."

"The Professor said to stay here," Scott adds.

Storm quietly joins them and says, "I don't think the police would look too kindly on you trying anything right now."

Logan snarls, and Remy says, "We'll get her. I swear to you, we'll get her back." He's not staying just because Scott told him to, but he thinks Scott and the Professor are right. If he goes after Rogue now, he'd be taking a pretty big risk not only with his own life, but also with the lives of all those policemen. Better to wait. Logan stays with them, though he looks decidedly unhappy about it. Xavier concedes to Magneto's threat. The Brotherhood leaves the station with Rogue in hand, and the X-Men return to the mansion. Logan and Remy return together in the car they'd taken to the station earlier, to look for Rogue.

"I can't believe Magneto took Rogue," Logan fumes. "What do you think he wants with her?"

"Don't know, mon ami. But we'll find her. The Professor can track them when he gets back to Cerebro."

Logan sulks the rest of the short drive, and Remy can't really blame him. Back at the mansion, Remy and Ro watch as Logan washes the blood off his face and lashes out at the Professor.

"I couldn't see what he was after until it was too late," Xavier admits sadly, which scares Remy a little. In the ten years he's spent at Xavier's, he's come to see the Professor as damn near omniscient.

Logan storms toward the door, disgusted. Remy and Ororo both follow Logan out of the room and downstairs. Ro is pissed, and only some of it is on Remy's behalf. "Logan, you can't do this alone!" she snaps.

"Who's gonna help me? You? So far you've all done a bang-up job," Logan says.

Remy winces, but Ro continues, "Then help us. Fight _with_ us."

"Fight with you? What, join the team? Be an X-Man?" Logan asks, his voice dripping with condescension. "Who the hell do you think you are? You're a mutant. The whole world out there is full of people that hate and fear you, and you're wasting your time trying to protect them? I got better things to do."

Like what? Remy wonders. He doesn't think Logan has much going on in his life these days. Nothing that could compare to life with the X-Men.

"You know, Magneto's right. There's a war coming. You sure you're on the right side?" Logan adds. Remy reels. He's seen Logan angry before, of course, but is he really talking about leaving already? And joining Magneto? No, he wouldn't join Magneto--he just wants to save Rogue. Why is Rogue so important to him, anyway, Remy wonders. He'd only known Rogue for a few days. He'd known Remy for years.

"At least I've chosen a side," Ro says proudly, her chin held high. Remy squeezes her hand as Logan reaches the front door. He pulls it open, revealing a face they've all seen on TV. What would Senator Kelly be doing here? Remy realizes that the senator does _not_ look well. He staggers into the house, asking after Jean. Perhaps driven by curiosity, Logan follows Ro and Remy as they escort Kelly down to the medbay.

After treating Kelly, Remy and Ro stay with him, monitoring his condition. Logan gives Remy a pleading look and stalks off. Remy knows Logan hates the lab. Remy's not wild about it either, but he'll stay, so Ro doesn't have to be alone with this hateful man. He stands behind her while she holds his hand. He stands behind her while Kelly dissolves into nothingness, and he envelops her into a hug when it becomes clear that they have just witness the death of a senator. Ororo washes her hands and they run upstairs to tell the rest. Then they wait outside Cerebro while Xavier searches for Rogue.

But something goes wrong. Xavier doesn't find Rogue, and he doesn't wake up no matter how hard Jean and Scott try to rouse him. Remy helps Scott carry Xavier down to the medbay. Jean connects him to some monitors and then goes back to inspect Cerebro for clues. Logan mutters, "Sorry," and leaves the medbay again. This time, Remy follows him, leaving Scott alone with Xavier.

"Where you going, Logan?" Remy asks.

"Look, you know I ain't much of a joiner," Logan says.

"Yeah? You in a real big hurry to get back to Canada? Got a lot going on there?" Remy asks, trying to keep his voice level.

"It's just... this is hard for me," Logan says, his voice surprisingly vulnerable.

Remy says, "I know it is. Did you think it was easy for me here, at first? I know how it is, living out on the road. But it gets old, Logan. You really want to go back to Canada? Back to that pickup truck? Alone?" Logan works his jaw for a minute, and Remy coaxes, "Anyway, mon ami, I think you'd look real good in an X-Man uniform. They're your color, trust me."

Logan stares at him, his hazel eyes expressing sadness and frustration. He says nothing, and Remy continues, "Logan, you're a good man. You want the same things that we want, that the X-Men want."

Finally, Logan says, "And we're gonna go find Rogue?"

"Yes, we're gonna go find Rogue," Remy says patiently. "But it's better if we get all the information first, eh? Don't wanna go runnin' in the swamp till we know how many gators is in there. Or, well, where exactly the swamp is. Thieves know that, and X-Men do too."

"Guess maybe I never learned that one," Logan says.

"You probably did and you just forgot it."

Logan's mouth twists into a grin, and Remy allows himself a small sigh of relief. "Let's get ready to find Rogue, d'accord?"

"Yeah. All right," Logan says. They go up to the Situation Room and go over their strategy for the evening.

"D'you think Magneto's working with Essex? Or the Silver Samurai? They both knew how to convert humans into mutants." Remy asks the room.

Logan looks up, interested, but Scott says, "This doesn't seem like their style. I think Magneto built the machine himself."

Jean purses her lips. "I don't know, Scott. Magneto's an engineer, not a geneticist. This kind of thing... he completely changed Senator Kelly's genetic structure. It does seem a little beyond the scope of his abilities. Maybe he did get some outside help."

"We haven't heard anything about Essex since he escaped from S.H.I.E.L.D. a few years back," Remy says.

"What about Kenichirō?" Logan asks.

Remy says, "We haven't heard from him, not ever. I guess if he was with Magneto... I think we'd have seen him around, especially if he knew that Logan was with us."

Scott raises an eyebrow. "You seem to have a lot of enemies, Logan."

Logan shrugs. "The usual amount, I guess."

Remy snorts, and Storm says, serenely, "We have trained to face a number of enemies. We have no particular reason to believe that Essex or the Silver Samurai are among those we will fight tonight, but if they are there, we will face them. For now, we should get to Liberty Island as quickly as possible, before Magneto can enact his plan."

No one can really argue with that, and Scott quickly takes them through the evening's plan with the Situation Room's high tech simulator. To Remy, it looks like a child's toy, but Scott uses it to show them their very serious plan of attack for the evening.

Then they suit up and board the jet. Cyclops and Storm are flying tonight. Cyclops almost never lets Remy co-pilot, even though Remy's just as good a pilot as Cyclops and Storm are. But he'd gotten to fly with Storm to pick up Logan and Rogue earlier that week, so he can't be too grumpy about it. Anyway, he's sitting in the back next to Logan, enjoying his lover's extreme discomfort at wearing a leather uniform, in a high-tech jet, with a group of X-Men.

Remy grins when Logan snipes about Scott's landing. He remembers flying Logan out to the Island fifteen years ago, how Logan had bitched about Remy's piloting skills then. Remy had known it was just to cover up Logan's fear of flying, and he hadn't been afraid to call the man out on it. This time, though, he just gives Logan a sympathetic smile, happy to hear somebody else ragging on Scott for once.

They make it into the Statue of Liberty visitors' center and find Toad and Mystique. Remy tenses. Only two of them? Where are the others? And what if Essex or the Silver Samurai are here? For all of Ro's serenity, if those two _are_ with the Brotherhood, the X-Men may have bitten off more than they can chew.

But for now it appears to be just Toad and Mystique, and they quickly make it past them, up into the Statue itself.

None of them react quickly enough to Logan's warning, not even Remy, and they all find themselves pressed against the walls of the statue with heavy metal strips. Remy squirms. He can pick locks or slip out of knots in a heartbeat, but there's not much he could do about having metal perfectly molded to fit his body. He could charge the metal, but when it exploded it would probably take his hands off.

He's scheming while Magneto pontificates and Ro and Jean tell him about Senator Kelly's death. Remy throws in his own vote of agreement, though he knows it's worthless. Magneto has his mind made up and he's not going to believe any of them. Magneto floats off to carry out his plan, leaving them with a smug Sabretooth and the sounds of Rogue's cries for help. Remy hates hearing them, of course, but he also hates seeing the look of abject misery on Logan's face. Neither of them are used to being so helpless in a fight.

Remy winces when Logan cuts himself free from his bonds. He'd known Logan was a tough motherfucker, but, damn. That had to have hurt. Logan recovers quickly enough to fight Sabretooth outside their little chamber, and Remy listens anxiously, trying to track their fight. His heart sinks when Sabretooth comes back alone, and it sinks further when the huge mutant approaches Ro. Goddamn Victor Creed.

But then Logan comes back, too. He has Cyke's visor, and the tide turns for them. Cyclops knocks Sabretooth down into the harbor. Logan frees them all from their bonds, and they work on a way to get Rogue out of Magneto's machine. The plan they come up with is risky, but Remy supposes Logan will probably survive it. He watches anxiously as the net of white light spreads. It blinds him, and he can't quite make out what's happening up there. Then Cyke hits Magneto and the light stops. He watches Logan press his bare skin to Rogue's face, watches as Rogue revives and Logan collapses.

Police start to swarm the statue. Ro and Jean lift Remy up to the top of the torch, and he uses his own gymnastic abilities to grab on, ever-aware that he doesn't have Logan's healing powers. First, he checks out Magneto and is satisfied that the man will stay unconscious until the authorities get there. He'd taken quite a hit.

Remy can't help but study the machine. Remy's no engineer, and he has no idea how this metal frame could possibly convert humans into mutants. But it looks reassuringly unfamiliar; it's nothing at all like the stuff Remy had seen at Yashida Technologies. Maybe this _was_ all Magneto's doing, with no outside help. Remy hopes to God that's the case.

Logan is crumpled unconscious on the ground. Rogue is kneeling over him, scared, but alive.

"Don't you worry about Logan none. He'll be fine," Remy says, because it has to be true. "How are _you_ doin', cherie?" he asks Rogue.

"I need a beer," she says, her voice lower than usual.

He laughs. "You and me both."

They wait together until the others bring the jet around and extend a ladder down for them. It's a tricky bit of flying and Remy grudgingly gives Scott credit for it. In his head, anyway.

Back at the school, Scott and Ro take care of the jet. Remy, Rogue, and Jean take Logan down to the medbay. While Jean takes care of Logan, Remy sneaks a beer from his stash and covertly gives it to Rogue, making her swear to never tell Cyclops about it. She agrees and asks for a cigar, which is where Remy draws the line. Rogue scowls, the expression looking eerily similar to Logan's, but Remy holds firm.

After Rogue goes to sleep, Remy pulls up a chair in the medbay to wait for Logan to wake up. Again. It's strange seeing him covered with bandages and tubes, which will all soon be unnecessary.

Of course, Logan doesn't stir until Jean comes down to change his bandages, hours later.

"That was a brave thing you did," Jean tells him. She fills him in on Rogue's condition and flirts with him a little. "I think she's a little taken with you," she says.

"Well, you can tell her my heart belongs to someone else," Logan replies.

Jean freezes and stammers something, assuming Logan is referring to herself. Remy bites back a laugh. Trust Logan to verbalize his affection for Remy in the most troublesome way possible. After Jean finally leaves, Remy approaches Logan's bedside.

"Your heart belongs to someone else, eh?" he says. "Should I be jealous?"

Logan snorts. "I ain't the one who hits on anything that moves, am I?"

"Hey now," Remy says, offended. "I have standards. There are _plenty_ of moving objects I wouldn't hit on."

Logan grins up at him and Remy says, "So, you giving another thought to sticking around here? We got a great healthcare plan."

"I can see that," Logan says. He looks Remy up and down. "You all right? I mean after everything that went down?"

Remy smirks. "Just fine, Logan. Not all of us end up in the medbay after every fight."

Miffed, Logan says, "You know I don't need to be in here. I'm fine," though his still-pale face belies his words.

"Oh, oui, but Jeannie just loves her job. If you hadn't been here she probably would have given me a saline drip just to stay busy. But since you're feeling so good, you won't have any excuses if I beat you at cards," Remy replies, brandishing a fresh deck.

A few hours later, Jean comes back downstairs and shoos Remy and his cards away from her patient. She removes the rest of Logan's bandages and pronounces him free to leave the medbay. "Go put a shirt on," she says with a grin.

In the hallway, Remy whispers, "You _could_ put a shirt on, or we could do something else..."

They barely make it in the door of Remy's room, and Remy's not at all sure how long they can keep their relationship a secret here. He supposes it doesn't really matter. Like Ro had said, everyone would probably be relieved to know that the two of them were paired off.

After they fuck--frantic and passionate and happy to be alive--Logan gets dressed and goes down to the Professor's office to see about getting his memories restored. Remy briefly wonders about Xavier seeing Logan's most recent memories, but he figures it's probably pretty hard to shock the Professor.

Remy daintily wipes off his mouth and heads to his office to grade the last of his art history papers. He gives John Allerdyce a B+, the lowest grade he's given out. He somewhat grudgingly gives Kitty an A+. He fills out his gradebook and puts the papers in a manila folder, congratulating himself for being such a responsible adult. He looks over his lesson plans for the rest of the week and then goes back to his bedroom, where he idly flips through the most recent issue of _American Art Review_. He's anxious to hear if the Professor was able to help Logan, and he doesn't have to wait long to find out.

"Well? Did he find anything in that empty head of yours?" Remy asks, after Logan stalks into his room without knocking.

Logan shrugs. "He said I should look at a place called Alkali Lake."

Remy bites his lip. "And where's that?"

"Up in Canada."

"But that's all? He didn't find your full name or anything like that?"

"I guess I'll just have to stick with Logan."

"It suits you," Remy says.

"Anyway, so I guess I'm gonna go check out this lake or whatever."

"I could go with you, if you want," Remy offers. He's prepared to make a case for why he should go--he has skills Logan doesn't have, a long and successful career of breaking and entering. He, too, has a history with Stryker. And if he goes with Logan, he figures there's a better chance they'll both return to Westchester.

"Don't you have classes to teach and shit?"

"It's almost summer vacation. I wouldn't mind going up to Canada. Not in the summer, anyway, when it's warm. In the meantime, you could stick around here. Help us if we need to fight Magneto or the Silver Samurai or whoever else wants us dead these days. Maybe even play some field hockey with us."

"Yeah. Guess I could," Logan says. "When's summer vacation start?"

"June 2nd," Remy says promptly.

"You're counting the days?"

"Thirty-four."

"Well. I've gone fifteen years without knowing my past. I guess thirty-four more days won't kill me," Logan says.

"Seems like pretty good odds," Remy agrees.

Logan asks, "So, what's there to do around here besides fuck and read magazines?"

Remy laughs and puts down his journal. "Well, we've got some pretty nice televisions. Pretty much every video game ever invented. A pool table. A pool. And probably the nicest gym in the world. Any of that sound appealing?"

"Anything to drink around here? Don't know if it's possible to play pool without a beer."

Remy grins and opens his closet door, revealing a huge collection of brightly-colored shirts and a small white fridge.

"Hmm," Logan says, "if I'm gonna stick around this place I think I'm gonna need to get one of those for my room."

"I'll take you to Target tomorrow, mon frere," Remy promises.

"What's that?"

"Big store that sells pretty much everything."

"Including liquor?"

"Well, no."

"All right, then. First Target, then the liquor store," Logan says decisively.

"It's a date," Remy says, offering Logan a cold Heineken. Logan accepts the statement and the beer with a nod. Bottles in hand, they both slip downstairs and Remy shows Logan the pool table.

At dinner that night, Logan sits with Rogue, making sure she's all right and laughing at how foul her mouth has gotten since absorbing Logan's personality again. Remy sits with Ro, who says, with only a hint of smugness, "Looks like Logan's chosen a side after all."

"Yeah," Remy says. "Guess he has."

That night, Remy sleeps curled up against Logan. He's not sure how long this will last, but he'll be damned if he doesn't intend to enjoy it as long as he can. He and Logan have both earned some measure of peace, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading! I just wanted to take this opportunity to remind you to please leave some love for my awesome artist lick_j at [this post!](http://lick-j.livejournal.com/1055188.html)! Also the mix is [here](http://renata-kedavra.livejournal.com/13660.html) if you find you are now in the mood for some Bob Dylan!


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